Learning to Breathe
by onoM
Summary: Harry Potter is 16 years old. He already defeated Voldemort, with the help of his Godfather Sirius Black. Now he is in for the biggest challenge of his life: attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
1. Dramatic Entrance

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to Harry Potter, really. Don't sue me, please, I'm not worth the trouble. The basic plot is not mine, either. I found it in the first chapter of a story by the author Jeconais and saw that he had no intention of continuing it. Since he no longer wanted to write about it, something burned me into continuing, and hopefully finishing, what he started. I have been granted permission to use the basic plot. This is my humble attempt. I hope someone out there enjoys it.

Chapter I: Dramatic Entrance

The figure appeared on platform 9¾ in a normal enough fashion, but for the fact that the person now occupying the crowded platform was anything but normal. At nearly 6' tall and about as rigid as a slab of quick-dry cement, he looked nothing like the rest of the students sharing tear-filled goodbyes and boarding the Hogwart's Express. He wore a fitted black t-shirt and loose-cut jeans with black boots. An olive-drab canvas duffel bag was slung carelessly over his shoulder as if it were affected with a weightless charm.

His close-cropped thick black hair did nothing to cover the faint pink outline of a lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and his green eyes quickly scanned the area for threats with practiced ease. Train stations were highly dangerous, no matter how well-prepared one was. Klaxons were going off inside of his mind at every closed trunk and bag, he needed to enter the train quickly.

Striding purposefully towards the nearest door, he made it onto the train without getting too close to any potentially dangerous baggage. _Come on, Harry._ He reprimanded himself sternly. _You didn't defeat Voldemort so you could worry about every eleven-year old's luggage that might or might not contain an explosive device. There's nothing to worry about here, this is not a combat zone. Relax._ The Boy who Lived took a deep breath and went down the hall to find an empty cabin.

The second to last cabin was empty, so he shut the door behind him and slung his duffel onto the rack at head level. He took a seat next to the window and shut his eyes. Sleep was a commodity he had learned to hoard at every turn. You never knew when you'd be able to sleep next, in the War.

The War. Had it really ended? Harry had been fighting it as long as he could remember, training for that inevitable clash between Voldemort and himself. And now that he'd clashed and emerged victorious, his mind wouldn't believe that the danger was over. The train was a secure location, he knew could sleep here without wondering if he'd wake up. It had been so long since he'd felt safe anywhere, though. Even when he was asleep, the slightest disturbance in the area around him would snap him awake instantly. You couldn't afford to be out in the field and drowsy when it hit the fan. As he drifted off to sleep, his magic reached out and set up an alert perimeter so he would wake up when someone came through the door. His thoughts drifted as he progressively relaxed his senses so he could fall asleep in a busy environment. He closed his eyes and his head rested against the corner of the seat and the wall. His wand was tucked into a leather strap on his right forearm, ready at a moments notice.

It was how he was trained, the way he was raised. The finest minds in the wizarding world had honed him into a weapon, and his Godfather Sirius Black had shown him the meaning behind it. The man was as close to him as any father, although he was rather strict when it came to training. Harry respected the man immensely. He could say that about precious few people.

In his training, he had been pushed past any limits he thought he once had so that he would emerge victorious in the final showdown. His trainers had made sure that no effort was spared to give him every advantage in battle. Harry had risen to the challenge, and succeeded beyond all expectations. He knew more magic than any but the most skilled and educated wizards, he could fire eight stunners in eight different directions in less than a second. He'd been trained extensively in combat transfiguration, which he'd been told he was a genius in. His swordsmanship was second to none, thanks to an excellent Romanian master swordsman. More than a little brutal, but Harry had become incredibly resistant to physical attacks after training with Nicolai. He didn't use a wand to cast most of his spells, he only brought out his wand for particularly complex magic, or when he needed a little extra power behind his spell.

He was also taught a rare form of wandless transfiguration known as transmuting, in which he would take elements from one object and make them into something new and permanent. It was more specific and exponentially more difficult than normal transfiguration, in that you could only transmute something in equal proportions. He used it to make the firearms and edged weapons he employed in defeating the Dark Lord's personal guards.

All this training had shaped him into an important tool for the wizarding world. A tool that would be used to remove Voldemort from it. And so he had.

He had cut down Voldemort, but now what? His destiny was fulfilled less than one month ago, and he had no idea what to do with himself now. What good was a tool that had no more reason to be used? What was he going to do?

What good was all his training, now that he'd accomplished his ultimate goal. There were more dark wizards in the world, of course, but none of them would come out of hiding with Harry there. The defeat of Voldemort at the hands of a boy nearing 16 years old had sent, and was still sending, shockwaves through the wizarding world. A boy not even old enough to buy a bottle of Ogden's Finest had killed the most powerful dark wizard in recent memory.

Now he had been ordered to Hogwarts by his superiors. Why would they need a weapon like him at Hogwarts? Harry preferred his flat. It was quiet, he was never bothered and he could train to his hearts content. Hogwarts was full of people, little squeaky people that would be running and screaming and creating chaos if a battle broke out. His talents were practically useless in a place so crowded, and truth be told he was nervous.

His higher-ups hadn't given him anything comfort, either. His orders were simply to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. No objectives, no support, no intelligence. No map of the area and surrounding territory, and no contacts he could receive assistance from. They just told him to go. So he went, knowing full well that this school could teach him nothing he either didn't already know or didn't need to learn. Orders were orders, after all, and these ones didn't go against the ethical training he'd had. Still, he hated taking days off when physically and magically he was in top form. Days off ruined that fine edge, dulled him down. His instincts would run haywire, fraying from false alarms.

The sliding door to the cabin opened, interrupting his thoughts. Harry kept his eyes closed, keeping up the veneer of being asleep. He was quite good at it, and you could find out a great many things by simply listening when nobody thought you could hear. Over the general racket of the hallway, a male voice was audible. "-was packed this week! Fred and George brought their girlfriend's families over for supper, we had to extend the table to fit over twenty-"

The voice stopped abruptly as it entered the cabin. Shushing sounds were made, along with a hissed, "Ron!" Three sets of footsteps entered the cabin, then stood for a moment whispering in hushed voices.

"I've got to sit next to my girl, Gin. You sit next to the bloke in the corner." Came the male voice again.

A distinctly female voice countered, "I'm not sitting next to some boy I've never seen before, just so you can have a snog with your girl! No offense, 'Mione, but I think HE should go sit next to the stranger. He looks asleep, so he's already better company than half the male population of Hogwarts." There were snickers at this, along with a resigned sigh. Harry's cushion popped up a little as the weight of a body pushed down on the other end, jostling him slightly. More hushed hissing voices berated 'Ron,' who was now sitting next to him.

Small talk was made, and he found out that one of the girls was named 'Gin,' which had to be a nickname for something. 'Mione' was also, 'Herms,' which meant her name was probably Hermione, unless she had another syllable in there. He wasn't very good with names, it wasn't something he'd been trained for. Still, he felt a little sneaky pretending to be asleep like this.

These people weren't mission critical, he didn't need to speak to them to accomplish his tasks, but his primary mission parameters included engaging in extracurricular activities suitable for a wizard of his age. Speaking and being spoken to were most certainly within mission parameters. So his eyes snapped open.

He blinked once, then his green eyes remained open. He righted himself and looked around silently. All conversation in the cabin died. Harry was on the receiving end of three very curious stares.

'Ron' was wearing a bright red v-neck sweater with a very worn pair of denim jeans. Across from him, 'Mione' wore a long-sleeved white blouse and a sky blue pleated skirt that ended just above her knees. 'Gin' was wearing a faded dark green halter top and beige Capri pants.

The male was the first one to speak. He had a shock of flaming red hair, long enough to cover his ears, and spoke with brash confidence. "Wotcher, stranger. I don't think I've seen you before at Hogwarts. What house are you in?"

He'd been briefed on the house system at Hogwarts, but hadn't been sorted. Another strange custom he was looking forward to. "I have not been assigned a house." He answered simply, in the monotone that his voice had assumed after years of war. He'd been instructed from a very young age that emotion was for noncoms, a luxury that weapons could not afford.

"Right." The male said again, not looking as convinced as he sounded. "Well then, what's your name?"

Harry answered straight away, "Potter." This seemed easy enough. He didn't think he could manage the 'small talk' that noncoms seemed to master at an early age, but so far they were asking exceedingly simple questions.

He heard several collective gasps from the cabin. Apparently they'd heard of him, though it mattered little to Harry. His mission was nigh-impossible to compromise, unless another prominent dark wizard that Harry hadn't yet managed to kill suddenly appeared. Besides, he was engaging in suitable extracurricular activities.

"Potter, like ... Harry Potter?" The girl named 'Gin' said in a hushed, awed voice. All eyes were suddenly drawn to the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, which had dulled to a light pink color after he defeated Voldemort.

"Affirmative." He answered. These noncoms seemed like fairly normal wizards, Harry hoped he would be able to converse with them on a somewhat regular basis. This was an adequately engaging activity for passing time. That, and the red-headed girl seemed familiar.

"Right..." came the reply from 'Ron.' "As if we've got Harry bloody Potter in our cabin." The boy pinched his own cheek hard and yelped in apparent shock. "Ouch! What's this, then?!" He asked no one in particular.

This noncom had an affinity for stating the obvious, it seemed.

After a moment of tangibly awkward silence, in which the two girls stared pointedly at 'Ron,' the girl known as 'Mione' offered, "So... what brings you to the Hogwarts Express, Mr. Potter?" She smiled a weak but genuine smile.

"I have been instructed to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and to engage in extracurricular activities suitable for a wizard of my age." Harry recited. That was his primary mission verbatim as it was given to him, and he saw no reason to withhold non-critical information from a noncom. Some things would have to be censored for security purposes, such as his secondary mission, but most anything he knew could be shared freely with the average witches and wizards who attended Hogwarts.

The green-eyed soldier quickly learned that 'Mione' was the only one of them that could effectively synthesize the information he provided, so he spoke exclusively to her when addressed by any of the group. Noncoms had their own language and syntax; it seemed startlingly different from what Harry had been taught. 'Mione' proved to be an able translator, and would doubtless prove invaluable in the future.

After fifteen minutes of pleasant discourse (more like a good-natured interrogation), the door slid open to reveal a tall boy with incredibly blond hair slicked straight back and an oily smirk seemingly etched onto his face. "Mudblood, Weasel, I've been sent to collect you for the Head Boy. He wants you in his cabin, and five minutes ago. Ginny, you're looking ravishing today." He licked his lips and fixed her with a strange stare. His shimmering gray shirt matched his eyes. It looked incredibly expensive, and far too profligate for use in a combat environment.

'Gin' shuddered visibly at this. "Go to hell, Malfoy."

The door rolled shut with an audible slam, and the occupants of the cabin said nearly in unison, "Greasy git..." They exchanged a knowing look, then burst out laughing. Harry blinked.

'Mione' and 'Ron' left as soon as the laughter died down, leaving Harry alone in the cabin with 'Gin.'

Harry wasn't bothered by this at all, but 'Gin' was exhibiting several outward signs of stress. Her knees were rubbing together, her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and her gaze was constantly shifting from the floor to Harry, then back to the floor. His gaze never left her, as she was easily the most interesting entity in the room. A slight flush tinged her lightly freckled cheeks.

"What is your name?" The green-eyed boy asked, attempting to initiate a conversation. It was rather difficult to think of something to say, so he used a question they had already asked.

"Uhm... My name is Ginevra Weasley, Mr. Potter, sir." She said, then blushed furiously. "I mean, you can call me Ginny. My friends all call me Ginny. You probably don't want to be one of my friends, but... I mean, you're..." She trailed off, ducking her head so her brilliant red hair fell over her face.

"I'm Ginny." She finally said, after much debate. Her head remained ducked, and she squirmed under the supposed scrutiny of the Boy who Lived.

This behavior was strange, Harry decided. Certainly, none of his fellow soldiers had ever responded like this when asked for their name. What had caused this abnormal shift in behavior? She spoke to the other two people in the room with a casual air, but something in his actions or speech had created a substantial amount of distress for Ginny. What had he done? Surely he couldn't be so inadequate at this 'small talk' that he was causing her visible distress.

"Have I said something wrong?" Harry inquired in his signature monotone. He might as well have been saying that there was a good chance for rain the following morning.

Ginny shook her head, causing her hair to ripple in a shimmering cascade of filtered sunlight. "No, sir. It's just... you're Harry Potter. And you look really familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?" She asked quietly, peeking at his face through her fiery bangs.

Harry was about to ask another question when the door to the cabin slid open yet again. The blond-haired boy from earlier, 'Malfoy,' was back. A greasy smile was on his face as he drawled, "Well well, Ginny, it appears your numbers have dwindled. I'll help myself then." Without pause, the boy sat down next to Ginny and draped his arm around her shoulder.

"I wonder sometimes, why haven't we copulated yet? It's a perfectly logical match, you know." His hand quickly snaked along Ginny's collarbone towards her chest.

The red-headed witch balled up her fist and swung it up at Malfoy's face, hard, and the fist hit him square in the nose. Blood erupted from the impact, spraying the boy's expensive shirt. A howl of pain erupted from the bloodied wizard, who immediately shoved his hand into his pocket. There was a long, thin bulge there.

_Wand_. Harry didn't even need to ask, his reflexes took care of the rest. Before Malfoy could extricate his hand from his pants Harry had stood up. His leg whipped out and his heel landed solidly on the blond-haired boy's collarbone, his large black boot obstructing Ginny's view of the Draco's head. Malfoy screamed as several wet cracking sounds confirmed that his shoulder and collarbone were broken. Twisting quickly, the Boy Who Lived brought his boot across Draco's face, dislocating his jaw and sending him crashing into the corner of the cabin. It was over so fast that it seemed like a single blur.

Ginny was the youngest Weasley, and the only girl. She was intensely proud of her fearlessness, which was forged in the fires of hundreds of battles with larger and more male siblings. Eventually she reached the point where threats of violence no longer frightened her in the least. Through her pride, the sight of his eyes penetrated her veneer of haughty indifference as though it were dry parchment. These eyes belonged not to a student, but a killer who could end you without a spare glance. It was terrifying to behold.

His face was a granite mask, his jade eyes raged inside their stone prison. The contrast from what seemed only moments earlier was drastic. This was the very face of death, trapped within a 16 year old boy. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her breath hitched in her throat. There was nothing she would have liked more than to shrink to insignificance and disappear under the mere peripheral of his burning gaze. It was nigh impossible to believe that a boy's eyes could hold such certainty.

Then to see this boy with blazing eyes simply annihilate a man she loathed more than any other in a matter of perhaps two seconds, it was incredible. Rather than being afraid, she found herself oddly jealous of the magical power this boy possessed.

Without a sideways glance, Harry bound the young heir of Malfoy with invisible ropes and ripped the wand out of his expensive pocket. The well-stitched seam tore, but Ginny couldn't find it in her heart to feel sorry about it. Potter pocketed the wand and banished the would-be Casanova to the floor under the window of the cabin. Only then did he return to his seat.

It wouldn't be until near midnight that Ginny would realize that he hadn't used his wand at all during the ordeal.

His face once again passive, Harry returned his attention to Ginny and resumed the conversation where they left off. "I have not attended Hogwarts prior to this, and your face is not familiar to me. I do not think you know me."

Ginny looked put out at this, but nodded mutely. Harry asked another question. "Is Ron your blood relative? You have the same hair color and facial structure, and your speech patterns are very similar."

The readheaded girl sitting across from him nodded. "If you just asked whether Ron was my brother or not, the answer is yes. Do you have any 'blood relatives?'" She asked with a small smile on her face. Maybe she was getting somewhere. At least she asked a decent question of him this time.

Harry shook his head. "Negative. My parents were both killed when I was a year old, my Godfather Sirius took me in. My Aunt and Uncle on my mother's side were both killed along with their son Dudley in a freak lightning storm. I am not aware of any living blood relatives."

Ginny paled, her mind racing and her mouth struggling to keep up. "Oh I'm so sorry, I know about your parents and everything, of course we've all read the stories, and I can't believe I just asked you that, what was I thinking saying something so rude and callous-"

Normally, Harry Potter would be harshly reprimanded for interrupting someone. These were not normal circumstances, and this noncom appeared to be rambling about false presumptions. "Do not concern yourself, you did nothing wrong. I did not know my Aunt and Uncle, and my parents gave themselves to a worthy cause. They are honored among wizards for their sacrifice. I am very proud of them."

The redhead nodded, heaving a sigh of relief. "I don't know if anyone has said it yet, but thank you." She tried to sound cheerful, but Harry could tell it was forced. Her freckled forehead was visibly creased from the effort of smiling.

"For what?" Harry inquired, honestly curious.

"Well, for starters thanks for taking care of Voldemort for us. I really don't know what our lives would be like if you hadn't killed him." She smiled again, stretching out her slender hand. "So thank you."

Harry looked down at the hand, then extended his own and gripped her hand lightly. He pumped it up and down once, then released her. "No thanks are necessary, ma'am. I was just doing my job."

Ginny insisted, "Still, we are all really grateful to you. Ron has always wanted to meet you, he's a big fan of yours. You might have a friend already." She giggled just then, and Harry stared at her intently. He was captivated momentarily by her laughter. He'd never heard anything so genuine and carefree in his life. Was this what it meant to be a noncom, to be able to laugh like that?

Harry Potter pondered this as the cabin grew quiet once more. Ginny looked incredibly uncomfortable at the way the Boy Who Lived was staring at her. Strange. She broke the silence again, "So, what are you going to do, since you've defeated Voldemort?" It was a whisper, barely even there, but Harry heard it anyway.

He answered in his normal monotone, "I have my orders, Ms. Weasley. I have not been told the reason for why I am going to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but there is always a reason behind my orders."

She mumbled something incoherent, he couldn't make out what she said. "Repeat yourself, please." He asked respectfully.

"I said, 'Call me Ginny.'" Her eyes were unflinching and defiant, daring him to disobey her command.

After a moment's consideration, Harry nodded. "That is a reasonable request. Ginny." he appended on the end. He knit his brow in concentration, and the right side of his mouth turned upwards in an attempt to smile. He hadn't been taught how to smile by his superiors, weapons had no need of such frivolities. His mission seemed to dictate otherwise, now, and he was intent on training his muscles to perform this new and awkward task.

His hand sign for homeostasis, the state of being fed, warm, well-rested and satisfied, was making an L with his index finger and thumb and setting it horizontally along his lips. He was positive that noncoms would not recognize the gesture, although it was his closest approximation to a smile. Still, his secondary orders were to engage in extracurricular activities suitable for a wizard of his age, and smiling was certainly one of those activities from what he had gleaned so far. It would prove to be a difficult challenge. Perhaps these noncoms were not as simple as he had expected.

Ginny beamed at him, recognizing his attempt for what it was. "Not bad, Mr. Potter, but when you smile you should really use both sides of your mouth. And you should probably try to mean it as well. If you're happy, you should want to tell someone. That is what a real smile should be." She nodded her approval and giggled again. Harry tried harder, but couldn't for the life of him get both sides of his mouth to turn up at the same time. His mouth simply wasn't trained for things like that. Ginny found it hilarious.

It seemed foreign to Harry. There was no underlying goal causing her to smile at him, she simply did it because she could. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to being frivolous, but he was eager to try. His mission would always come first, after all.

After several minutes of grueling practice, the muscles in Harry's cheeks were burning. He hadn't provided a suitable smile yet, but his instructor was much easier on him than he would have expected. He was used to being punished for failing to meet a requirement, but Ginny simply asked him politely to try again. It was something he wasn't used to, but he felt motivated to learn how to smile properly. This gentle method of coaching seemed almost as effective as his pistol instructor breathing down his neck and screaming expletives at him.

He still hadn't quite got it by the time 'Ron' and 'Mione' came back, but he was making decent headway. The two prefects seemed exhausted as they collapsed heavily on their seats.

"Long meeting?" Ginny asked with a smirk on her face.

The exhausted pair glared at the redheaded 5th year icily, but remained silent. Then their eyes fell on the beaten, restrained and unconscious Draco Malfoy in their cabin. Surprisingly, they kept their silence and just gaped.

With perfect timing, an older woman pushing a cart opened the door to the cabin. "What'll you kids be havin' today?" She asked kindly, smiling at the familiar faces. "Good day to you, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and ..." She trailed off as she squinted at the new face. "Good heavens, child, you're the spitting image of-"

Ginny interjected, a mischievous look on her face. "You probably haven't been introduced. Dorothy, this is Harry Potter." She motioned towards the Boy Who Lived, and the serving lady's jaw dropped.

"Is there a problem, ma'am? I hope I am not inconveniencing you in any way." Harry said as contritely as he could manage. It still sounded like a monotone.

Dorothy shook her head mutely, then looked down at her serving cart. She rummaged around in it, her hands running over the stockpiles of treats in her possession. Biting her lip, she pulled out a bag full of chocolate frogs. Tears were in her somber eyes as she held it out towards Harry, but Harry refused. "Ma'am, I was not issued currency. I cannot accept this free of charge." He insisted.

The serving lady shook her head, suddenly finding her voice again. "Listen here, boy. My husband and son were murdered by that bastard during his first reign of terror, just because my Tim was a muggle." She bit the last word off, as if the memory of it still opened the wound on her heart, and smiled tenderly before continuing.

"I can never repay the debt I owe you, but please accept this small token of my gratitude. I'm sorry I can't give you anything more, the boss would have my job if I gave these out for free." She whispered as she held the bag of chocolate frogs out to the Boy Who Lived once more. "Please. Take it."

Harry looked down at the chocolate, deep in thought, and nodded. Taking the bag of sweets, he stared unflinchingly into the serving woman's eyes. "It was an honor to serve, Dorothy." He said quietly.

It was people like this that confirmed his resolve. He was a weapon, and he saved lives by taking others. This paradox existed, as surely as he himself existed, and Harry was eternally grateful for it. He had brought justice to an innocent man and his son, for a woman he now knew. His actions had avenged Dorothy, and both would never forget that as long as they lived.

After the serving lady left, there was a moment of silence in the cabin. The other occupants had realized just how much this black-haired boy had done in his short life. Ron and Ginny hadn't bought anything, but 'Mione' shared her ice mice and Bernie Bott's every flavor beans.

Harry Potter examined the strange article in his hand before opening it. There were a dozen frogs, either coated in or made of chocolate, hopping around inside the bag. He shut the bag again, quickly, and looked around for assistance. "What have I been given?" He asked the cabin.

'Mione' was the first to answer. "They're called Chocolate Frogs, Mr. Potter. They hop around, but they're just charmed. Grab one and bite into it!" She eagerly urged him on as the whole cabin watched in fascination.

The green-eyed 6th year had never indulged in chocolate. It played havoc on your glucose levels, spiking and then depleting your energy leves. That took precious time to replenish. Oranges were sweet, but natural sugar was infinitely better for his body than artificial confections like this. All the same, he had his orders.

Following the progress of the frogs through the narrow neck of the bag, Harry's hand dove in and ripped out a frog. Holding the squirming chocolate in his hand, he stretched one of its legs out and bit it off.

His tastebuds rejoiced as he slowly chewed on the frog leg. He decided, then and there, that he loved the chewy, sticky goodness of chocolate. It was amazing, coating the inside of his mouth with melted ecstasy. He bit the frog's head off, and the charmed chocolate went limp in his hand.

Unable to speak with his mouth full of chocolate, Harry offered the bag to the rest of his cabin. After a few half-hearted assurances, 'No, we're fine,' Ginny and Ron obediently took one. 'Mione' was still on her ice mice, so he set one aside for her in the bag as the sounds of eating replaced the sounds of talking.

_Being a noncom doesn't seem so bad_... Harry thought, chewing on the stomach of his frog. _They engage in quiet discourse, eat chocolate and put up with the occasional arrogant boy. He was going for his wand, and his father was the second in command of Voldemort's forces, but he doesn't have the killer instinct. He doesn't have the glint in his eye, that hard edge that proves he's willing to do anything and everything to get what he wants. It's simply not there, but what does that mean?_

He had given himself a lot to ponder, but now was not the time to do it. Filing the questions away for later tonight, Harry returned his full attention to the group before him. Discourse was alright, he decided, as long as they kept asking pointed questions. Open-ended questions had too many unknown social parameters for him to answer properly.

* * *

When Harry got off the Hogwarts Express, Draco Malfoy's unconscious body floated after him. He followed the directions to the carriages and deposited the blonde-haired boy in the first empty one he came across. His wand, however, remained in Harry's pocket. You could never be too careful when it came to hostile intentions, and wands were as hostile as weapons came.

After a short boat ride guided by the biggest man Harry had ever seen, the new first years stood in a line with an out-of-place sixth year while they impatiently waited to be sorted. Several of the children looked up at him in awe, some going so far as to ask for his autograph, but Harry was focused on the event on hand. He had no idea what test the sorting would spring on him, but he wanted to be prepared for everything. He wasn't afraid, far from it, but it never hurt to be prepared for every possibility.

Was it a tactical test, would he be required to instantly produce the best course of action in a given situation? Perhaps a test of his general or wizarding-specific knowledge? Would he be required to duel? All his life he had been taught to do whatever was necessary to win. How did he win this battle, when he didn't know what winning and losing entailed? He was understandably tense when the sorting hat finally called out, "Potter, Harry."

A hush fell over his captive audience as he marched up to the stool and sat on it. The sorting hat was placed over his head, and it fit quite well for such an old hat. A voice spoke inside his head, which startled Harry a little. 'Hmm... You would have been a difficult one, my boy. If you'd have been here in your first year I might have put you in Slytherin, but as it stands your actions speak thunderously. Always remember that it is by your actions that you are remembered. Congratulations, you were born to be in-'

"GRYFFINDOR!" The sorting hat yelled aloud, causing cheers to erupt from the crowd. "We got Potter!" came an exuberant shout from the Gryffindor table, which he promptly joined. Was that it? Put a hat on your head, and that's the test? His senses relaxed slightly, and he chided himself for his rigid thinking. It wasn't as if a failed test meant life or death at Hogwarts. Of course they wouldn't have anything too difficult for him, especially if it was supposed to be for first years.

His new house converged on him, shaking his hand and thanking him profusely and hugging him. He'd never been hugged by his peers, it was something that only Sirius had ever done before. It felt strange, of course, but also welcome. It meant he had a social group already. Perhaps it would be a learning experience he could deal with, if being a noncom was this devoid of stress. He had only had to fight once today, and that was an incredibly passive conflict. Two hits, and the boy was out. He would hopefully be little trouble in the future, due more to the psychological affects of the damage he had sustained than the physical.

And then there was that red-headed girl, Ginny, who said she recognized him from somewhere. He wouldn't tell her this, but she seemed intensely familiar as well. Something about the bridge of her nose, the curve of her jaw, the way her left eyebrow arched just a little higher than her right... They brought with them a strong sense of nostalgia, and Harry couldn't place it. Who was she? And more importantly, where would he ever have seen her before? He'd only been to Hogwarts a few times in his life, and all of the visits were short and business-related. He'd never interacted with the student populace. Still...

* * *

There was a huge gathering of people in the Gryffindor Common Room, perhaps this was one of those 'parties' he had heard about. His mission parameters were clear, but he didn't know if he could stand the sheer volume in the area for another minute. His ears couldn't be allowed to adapt to a higher decibel level, or his hearing would be inadequate for a length of time. So he retired to his dormitory to bunk in for a couple hours of sleep.

His bed was incredibly soft. In the field, you slept wherever the ground was, and it was much colder and harder than this. He couldn't get comfortable while lying on his back, especially not on a bed this unnaturally giving. To rectify the situation, he slid off of the red and gold sheets onto the bare granite floor below. He sat how he always sat: one knee resting on the cold stone and the other propped vertically, with his wand clasped in his off hand. This position was moderately comfortable, and allowed him maximum mobility on a moments notice. The granite was cool enough to prevent him from falling into too deep a sleep. If an intruder came into the room, he could roll away from an incoming curse, or he could stand to face his attacker, or he could simply put up a shield and use the fact that he was sitting to protect him from all manner of magical attack. When he was curled up like this, a single shield would cover his head and chest. The granite floor would absorb or deflect any stray curses, doing away with a second shield under the first one to protect his legs.

And it was in this position that morning found him.


	2. First Impressions

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter II: First Impressions

Sneaking out of the portrait hole was entirely more difficult than Harry had imagined. The loud and largely unnecessary gathering of Gryffindors had lasted all night, to the point where most of the males and some of the more daring females slept out in the common room. Apparently they were too tired to drag themselves up the stairs to their respective dormitories.

The dawn was nearly there, but the Common room was still quite dark. The Boy who Lived was not unprepared for such a circumstance. By focusing on a spot far to the left or right of where you were actually looking, you could cause the area to be received by the peripheral cones of the retina. They were more sensitive to light, but could only tell the difference between white and black. Looking out of the corners of your eyes, you could make out shapes and obstructions in near-moonless conditions. Mustering all of his considerable stealth, he padded silently out of the room.

It occurred to Harry, while sitting in an entirely vacant Great Hall for breakfast, that he had lost something when he vanquished the Dark Lord. The light meal of eggs, sausage and orange juice didn't seem appealing at all, but he shoveled it in mechanically. He didn't need to taste the food, he just needed to eat it. The resulting calories would come in handy soon, during his morning workout.

The staff and students at Hogwarts didn't seem to value daylight. Not a soul was up except for him, and it was already 4:25 in the morning! True, there weren't any classes until 9am, but these people were wasting the light. The Boy who Lived couldn't abide that.

All his life he'd been training hard. His motivation was simple: Eventually, he would have to fight Voldemort to the death. If he wanted to win that battle, he'd have to train hard. That day had come, and found Harry still standing.

So now what?

He felt strangely ... obsolete. His mission was complete, but he was still here. Like a tool that had outlived its usefulness. What was he supposed to do now?

No answers arose in his head.

* * *

As he jogged out to the lake to start his morning routine, his mind emptied of those frivolous thoughts. He was still a soldier, and nothing was going to change that. He still needed to maintain an optimal level of fitness. The breaking dawn, the still, crisp morning air... It was so quiet.

His warm-up consisted of a 30-minute run at a moderate pace of about 10 miles per hour. Every 5 minutes, he would drop and pump out 50 pushups and 50 situps. The lake was about 1.5 miles around, so it evened out fairly well.

Dropping his pace down to 8 miles per hour, he veered off of the path around the lake and headed into the Forbidden Forest. Interesting choice of words there, but what could he possibly run across that was more dangerous than giants, manticores, renegade dementors and a Dark Lord? It took more than a name to scare Harry James Potter.

It wasn't even that forbidding, to tell the truth. He'd slept in danker places, Merlin knew. Squatted in the muck for days, in fact, just to catch a cell of Death Eaters or break up a larger meeting. Simple reasoning behind all this trouble: magical signatures lasted for days. You had to apparate or portkey in several miles away, then make the trek on foot and hide yourself with non-magical means. That meant making a hide and sitting still for a minimum of 72 hours while the signature of your arrival disappeared.

The sniffers, men who came first and conducted a magical survey of the area, were notoriously hard to fool. The real targets, higher-ranking Death Eaters, only came after word was sent that the area was free of magical signatures. Then they'd set up an anti-apparition ward and unplot the zone to keep Aurors from utilizing their portkeys. Only specially-tuned portkeys, those which were created by a certain person, were accessible in this mile-wide field. So they sat in the mud and rain and dirt and grime for days on end, appearing out of the blue and pacifying the area once the higher-ranking Death Eaters finally apparated in.

Those evil bastards never quite picked up on that tactic, to the delight of Aurors and Order members alike. Apparently, wizards (especially ministry wizards) spending days in an inhospitable forest without magic was a concept foreign to them. Harry didn't mind the grime. Everything he wore was cleanable, including his skin.

Their double agent, Severus Snape, had proven 100 reliable in the War. It was too bad the Death Eaters caught on. Harry took on the rescue mission himself, sneaking into the Parkinson's Manor and dragging the spy out. He'd earned the Order of Merlin, First Class for that. Not that the medal was important. Mr. Snape's work as a double agent saved countless innocent lives and led to the death or capture of well over 60 of Voldemort's Death Eaters. Saving Severus Snape from a life destined for endless torture and a brutal murder was the least that Harry could do.

Exiting the forest, he frowned momentarily. The next section of his routine consisted of weights, but there were no weights at Hogwarts. He couldn't just transfigure them, either. There were strict limits on what he was allowed to transfigure, on what magic he was even allowed to perform for that matter. After all, a weapon should not be wasting his magic on frivolous matters. He could be contacted on a moments notice, just in case they needed him for something. As such, he was expected to maintain maximum magical capacity at all times. Not a problem. A moderately difficult swim would suffice.

Waving his hand over his clothes to clean them, he walked into the cold lake fully clothed. Swimming clothed offered a higher level of resistance, letting him push his muscles further in the same amount of time. He settled into a moderate-pace crawlstroke and took off towards the other side of the lake.

The lake was about half a mile wide at its center, which worked out perfectly for Harry. Three times there and back should take him about an hour. Crawl there, butterfly back. Butterflies worked more muscles than any other stroke, useful for purging excess lactic acid from his less-used muscle groups. He made sure to take large breaths to help repay the oxygen debt he had acquired during his run. It was important to repay oxygen debt as soon as possible, so you weren't sore throughout the day.

Emerging from the lake dripping wet and breathing rather hard, Harry waved his hand over his clothes to dry them. He took extra care to fully dry his socks and shoes, wet footwear was the bane of soldiers.

* * *

It was only 6:45 when Harry re-entered the Great Hall. He had worked up quite an appetite, and was used to eating 6-7 times a day to replenish the energy he consistently drained. Helping himself to more sausage, two rashers of bacon, a piece of wheat bread and another tall glass of orange juice. His blood sugar would be lower than optimal after his workout, and he needed to replenish it quickly. 'Ready at a moments notice', was a motto that had been drilled into him since he could understand a spoken language. Picking up his fork, he prepared to dig in.

There weren't many people up, even this late in the morning. All of them were faculty. Dumbledore watched the new 6th year student with twinkling blue eyes. "Mr. Potter, would you care to join us at the staff table this morning? Your peers are conspicuously absent at this hour, and Professor Sprout's seat will be empty until lunchtime." There were 6 teachers up at the table, including one who was head and shoulders taller than the rest of them. Harry recognized him as the man who led the boats across the lake last night.

Harry nodded curtly, pushing back his bench and picking up his plate and glass. Making his way to the staff table, he sank into a comfortable leather chair and set his breakfast down again. "Thank you, Sir." He said in appreciation as he dug in.

It was in his nature to shovel down food, but sitting at the Officers tables required decorum above and beyond the common grunt. Harry was trained in proper table manners, but had precious few occasions to exercise them. He thought he did a decent job, when the situation required it, of eating politely.

After he was finished, he looked around the table at the faces gathered there. Headmaster Dumbledore he knew, as with Professor Snape and Madam Hooch. She taught him to fly when he was 8 years old, and it had remained one of his favorite hobbies. He introduced himself to the Transfiguration Professor, whose name was Minerva McGonagall, and the Arithmancy Professor. His name was Professor Vector. Then there was the matter of the gigantic man sitting across from him.

He had to stand up to properly greet the incredibly large man with an outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you, Professor." He recited a properly respectful greeting to the man, whose curly beard and hair obscured the majority of his face. The man took Harry's hand in his own (which was at least as large as the plates they were eating on) and shook it vigorously. Harry could appreciate a good firm handshake, Hagrid and he would get along just fine.

"'Arry Potter! I bet 'ye don't 'member me, do yeh?" The man said with a wide smile. "Th' name is Hagrid, and th' pleasure's all mine. Las' time I seen 'ye was when I took 'ye to Sirius' after yer folks..." His beady black eyes got misty and he sniffed loudly.

Nodding, Harry sat back down and consumed the rest of his food in a manner fit for esteemed company. The next hour passed rather uneventfully, as he listened to the idle banter between the professors. There was talk of Madam Pomfrey, a certified medi-witch, and the earmuffs she gave to the Headmaster last Christmas. Apparently, they could be used in conjunction with a device called 'the wireless' to listen to music throughout the castle. Professor Dumbledore was immensely pleased with them, although the heat of the earmuffs was quite uncomfortable during the summer.

Professor Snape had given Professor Lupin the wolfsbane potion for the full moon two nights ago, but he had still not recovered from the transformation. A company called Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes had started last year and proved immensely popular. The items in that store were entirely and singularly banned from Hogwarts this year, but the faculty had to take preemptive measures to ensure the ban was enforced. They had just yesterday received word of a new product called a 'portable swamp', and there was no denying that a corridor in Hogwarts, preferably one that was well-traveled, would be a perfect place for one.

As Harry was leaving to prepare for class, Professor Snape stood up and called after him. "Harry, I never did get a chance to tell you how much I appreciated your help with ... that incident at the Parkinson's." The look in his eyes was one of extreme gratitude. It looked somewhat out of place on his sallow face.

"Just doing my job, Professor." Harry replied, nodding his head slightly.

Without another word, he walked back up to his dormitory and changed for Transfiguration. The halls were illuminated with the bright morning sunlight filtering through the windows, casting stark shadows in an impressive array of geometric shapes.

Wizarding robes were good for wands, in that they allowed a completely free range of motion, but they would be terrible in a real fight. In a real fight, your enemy won't stand still and let you cast spells at him, nor will he let you free your legs when the hem of your robe is caught on something. It made no logical sense to wear robes in a fight. But when in Rome...

* * *

The Transfiguration class was buzzing with activity when he entered. There were already 14 people there, but the class was only half full. Harry took a seat at the front center bench. There was nobody sitting within three benches of him, they were all at the back. Harry was taught to sit as close to instructors as propriety allowed, so they didn't suspect you were falling asleep.

Some of the commotion in the room was about him, he could tell even though he couldn't pick up the words used. After several minutes of this, a familiar face appeared over his left shoulder. "You, sitting alone in the front bench. Fancy that. Want company?" Hermione, the bushy-haired brunette from the train ride, sat next to him without waiting for a reply. Her backpack thudded heavily on the wooden table, educing a knowing look from Harry.

"Your backpack must be at least 40 pounds. I know a charm to lighten it, if you'd like." He used the charm frequently in his travels, it saved his back for the mission every time. Dead useful spell, and it wasn't even classified.

Hermione blinked, then nodded slowly. "I've been looking everywhere for one of those..." She sighed wistfully, accepting her fate as the pupil. She was so looking forward to teaching Harry all about being normal, she forgot that he probably exceeded her on every single academic level. Damn.

Harry extended his index finger and ran it down the leather seam of her backpack. Nodding, he folded his hands on the table and waited for class to begin.

Blinking again, Hermione started, "But you didn't-" Before she could put her foot in her mouth, she shut up. Yes, he could! And he just did! What was so hard to believe about silent wandless magic performed as carelessly as if you were stretching? Harry looked at her curiously. "Have I done something wrong?" He asked in his signature monotone.

"No, Harry. Nothing wrong at all. Thanks for the help." She smiled forcefully, but it got easier the longer she held it. He didn't even try to rub it in that he was light years ahead of her in practical charms... She got the feeling that they would get along famously.

Professor McGonagall strode into the classroom, effectively silencing every student with her presence. Apparently, talking was prohibited during class. Good. It had been a while since Harry had been the subject of a strict teacher. Truth be told, he rather missed it.

"Good morning, class. Today, we will be covering our class outline for the year. As this is the first day of your NEWT level Transfiguration class, things are going to get a lot more advanced and it starts right now. Before we get started, I'd like to introduce the newest addition to the class. Harry Potter will be joining us this year, I expect him to be treated as normally as possible. If I hear a single person ask for an autograph, I'm taking 10 points and I don't care who I take them from. Is that clear?" She asked in a tone that clearly meant it wasn't a question.

"Now, Mr. Potter. I have it on good authority that you are something of a prodigy in this field. Could you provide us with a small demonstration, perhaps?" She asked him much more politely than necessary. Harry was used to being yelled at, the only teachers that spoke softly were the ones that didn't need to yell to be heard. Those were the ones to be afraid of.

"Yes Professor McGonagall. What would you have me do?" Harry stood up rigidly, awaiting orders. Teachers at Hogwarts were classified for this mission as his superiors. They could command him to jump off of the Astronomy Tower if they wanted to, and he'd go just as soon as he got clearance. A little demonstration would be no problem at all.

"Well, I've heard rumors of your abilities in Transmutation. Perhaps you could give us a glimpse of what those abilities are?" She asked hopefully.

Harry was many things. A soldier, a teenager, a halfway decent Quidditch player, in some circles he was a legend. One thing he was not, was a show pony. He had no flashy tricks meant to wow crowds, no complicated but utterly useless bits of magic that could be used to impress. All he knew were things that could keep him alive on the battlefield. The kind of transmuting that he did was not meant for show. It was meant to kill people quickly and silently. On rare occasions, it wasn't very silent. And in other exceptionally rare occasions, it wasn't very quick.

Still, she had asked him for a demonstration, and asking was the same as ordering to Harry. "Certainly, Professor McGonagall. This classroom is a little too small, if I might move my demonstration out into the hall?" After receiving word that it was acceptable, he immediately exited the room and turned the corner. There was a 60' section of straight corridor with no rooms to interfere. Perfect.

Turning his head to the side, he took stock of what was behind him. "I advise you all to step back until you are at least 10 feet behind me. The magical backlash during transmutation is quite powerful. One of my instructors was burned badly when he stood too close."

Minerva McGonagall had heard rumors alright. Rumors of fifty foot tall waves of rock and metal crashing into groups of people and crushing them into dust. Rumors of manufacturing muggle firearms in less time than it took most people to blink. Rumors, boastful as they may be, that would confirm this man as the deadliest wizard alive today. Possibly the deadliest wizard period. She needed more than rumors, and a demonstration was perfect. It would also show her students why turning a rabbit into a hat can be useful sometimes.

Kneeling on the ground, Harry put his hand onto the cool granite and closed his eyes. The crowd couldn't see anything but his back, but they felt the hot blast of magical energy that emitted from the Gryffindor. It was a searing thunderclap of heat, pushing his classmates back and causing most of them to close their eyes. The change behind him was nothing compared to the change in front of him.

The corridor in front of him warped, thick granite spikes shot out from every angle. Coming down, from every side, and from the floor. You couldn't see more than 20 feet, there were too many spikes obstructing your vision. It was so silent, too. The granite had moved like liquid, without a sound. The corridor was empty one moment, then the next it was completely overrun with these cruel spikes. It was a nightmare. Professor McGonagall looked at the severe distortion with mixed feelings of both relief and impending disaster. She was very happy to see Voldemort dead, but if Harry was this powerful... if there were ever an incredibly foolish wizard who...

Harry let the spikes sit for a few seconds, then with another blast of magic the corridor was empty once more. He removed his hand from the granite floor and stood rigidly once more. "I hope that was satisfactory, Professor."

McGonagall was still trying to find a way to tactfully say that it was both abhorrent and absolutely satisfying. One of the students voiced her concerns, "Have you ever used this on a real person, Mr. Potter?"

He replied immediately, "That information is classified."

The Transfiguration professor blinked twice, then had the good sense to usher the 6th years back into the classroom. So that was a yes. She repressed a shudder and shook her head slightly. "Alright children, back to class. Thank you for the demonstration, Harry. It was ... enlightening."

Harry nodded and class resumed at its usual pace. It was incredibly simple transfiguration, but his mission was clear. He was to attend these classes, no matter how much of his time they wasted. He was to do his homework and take tests. He was to eat chocolate frogs and stay up late. If today was any indication, he was also expected to disobey clearly posted directives, such as getting to class on time and not wandering around after hours. Hermione would prove an invaluable resource, no doubt. Hopefully he could persuade Ginny to teach him how to smile properly. For some reason, the thought twisted his insides uncomfortably. It wasn't painful, just ... odd.

He would give it his best shot, he decided as he once again transfigured his test mouse into a miniature poodle. In his entire life he had never failed a mission, he'd be damned if he failed the first mission he was given after the fall of Voldemort. He wasn't obsolete, not by a long shot, and one way or another he was going to prove it.

* * *

Upon entering the Potions classroom, the first thing Harry noticed was that it was exceptionally uniform. Every table was aligned perfectly with its respective row and column, each fire was perfectly placed in its respective table. The room smelled of cleaning charms and the unnamed yet incredibly distinctive smell of a cornucopia of potions ingredients. So this was Professor Snape's classroom...

As if summoned, Severus Snape burst through the door with his black cape billowing dramatically behind him. As the door swung shut, two sheepish-looking Gryffindors tried to sneak in before the door shut. Professor Snape didn't slow or turn, but somehow he knew.

"Five points from Gryffindor. If you haven't learned to be on time in the five unfortunate years I have had to waste on you, you'll never earn anything above a Troll in my NEWT level class. I can guarantee that." His voice was full of malice, as if these 6th year students were somehow causing him physical pain merely by being present in his sanctuary.

The Professor's black eyes scanned the nervous faces of the class. A twisted smile was on his face, causing it to warp unnaturally. This was obviously a man who did not smile often, even in a twisted fashion. "Despite what you may think, I despise teaching imbeciles. You know who you are, and you know you have been tolerated for half a decade due to the false and antiquated notion that everyone can be taught. Welcome to my NEWT-level class. I will only warn you once: there is no room for tolerance within the exacting art of Potions, either you possess the ability to follow my instructions or you are summarily dismissed from this class. If I can't teach you Potions, I will not allow you to waste another moment of my time. Have I made myself perfectly clear?" Snape sneered the last word, nearly spitting it in contempt from his mouth.

"Yes, Sir!" Harry responded immediately to the question, but nobody else spoke. Apparently, that was a question that was not supposed to be answered. Noncoms sure had a lot of ways to waste time, asking questions without answers... Before he could apologize for the breach of social contract, Professor Snape answered him. "I wasn't expecting an answer, Potter, but it's comforting to know that you are taking your studies seriously. Five points to Gryffindor."

The room was quiet before, but now it was dead. A full five seconds passed before a snobby Slytherin protested, "Professor Snape, have you gone mental? You just awarded Gryffindor house points! And to the Golden Wanker no less! The last thing that prat needs is a bigger head, if you ask me. If he could grow a decent beard, I swear they'd be calling him the next Merlin!"

Ron gritted his teeth, shoving his chair back loudly and getting ready to show that Slytherin exactly what it meant to insult a fellow Gryffindor in his presence. Harry put a hand on his shoulder and pushed down, putting the redhead firmly back in his seat.

Ron looked about ready to protest, but Harry silenced him with a silent shake of his head. He displayed no emotion, as if the comment didn't even reach his ears. "Let it go." Was all the green-eyed boy said, but even as quiet as it was nobody could mistake the intent in his voice. Ron nodded sullenly, clenching his fists tightly under the table and staring resolutely at a chipped section of the classroom wall.

Snape rounded on the smirking 6th year, eyes blazing. The smirk drained off of the boy's face like rain off an Autumn windowpane. "When you have saved me from a life of endless torture and an excruciatingly prolonged death, you might earn my good graces as well. For the moment, Mr. Zabini, you are not to speak again in my class. Ever. Not for a question, an answer, a cough or even a sneeze. If you feel the need to yawn, you will excuse yourself from class so as to not reveal to me your open mouth. No sound coming from your mouth in my class for the next two years, under pain of dismissal and 6 straight hours of detention every single night until you graduate!"

Pale and stricken, Mr. Zabini nodded and shrunk back into his chair. Nobody else said a word.

"I will not waste another moment of my time. Class has started. Who can tell me the name and natural location of an ingredient in the Draught of Living Death?"

* * *

Dinner that night was stressful for 6th and 7th year Gryffindors. Harry could see the strain on their faces as they inhaled their chicken and mashed potatoes. Everyone was talking about the sheer volume of homework they were expected to complete for their NEWT-level classes.

Hermione was the only one who didn't seem phased at all. "I've been telling you for years, Ron. If you want to keep up, you have to anticipate. I've already read my books, memorized the important parts, and completed this week's homework. Except for the 12 inches Professor Snape assigned us on the proper method for brewing the Draught of Living Death. That's going to take all night, the way he worded the questions is going to make them hard to answer less than 3 inches! He's really good at asking questions that require long answers, you see..." she rattled on for several minutes, ignorant of the fact that almost nobody else cared. Almost nobody, anyway.

Harry was taking furious mental notes. Hermione was a very studious individual, and he was sure she had a wealth of information on proper study techniques and how to write essays. Harry had never written an essay, per se. He'd written classified documents on advanced occlumency and methods of detecting and recognizing magical signatures. He had given a lecture on how to discover the direction and distance that a person has apparated through careful examination of those magical signatures. He'd even attempted to teach several adult wizards how to perform basic transmutation. But never in his 16 years had Harry Potter written 12 inches on brewing a potion, or anything else for that matter.

He was going to have to work on that. His writing skills were entirely geared towards more technical papers.

* * *

Another raucous party was going on in the Gryffindor Common Room, and strange bottles were being passed around. It was labeled simply 'butterbeer' and smelled strongly of butterscotch. Harry wrinkled his nose. How much sugar did these noncoms have to consume in a day, anyway? He didn't think he could stand much more of it.

Everyone was drinking it, so Harry surmised that it was a normal after-school activity. Ron urged him to take a drink, and the Boy who Lived obliged. He put the bottle to his lips and drained half of the ice-cold bottle.

It was very warm, he found. The kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the beverage, which was nothing short of arctic. No, this was the warmth that started in your throat and swirled around in your stomach, heating you all the way to your fingertips.

Harry took another drink, finishing the bottle and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's too sweet." He said plainly, tossing the bottle into a nearby receptacle. Ron snorted and took a long draw of his own butterbeer, only coming up for air after a good 20 seconds.

Ron's contented sigh caused Ginny Weasley to roll her eyes. Three empty butterbeers rested on the end table next to her, and a fourth was in her right hand. "Come on, Harry. Let's leave Ron to his mistress." She laughed good-naturedly, patting Ron on the cheek and leading Harry away to a quieter corner of the Common Room. She sat them down on the couch in front of the fireplace, enduring a moment of awkward silence. Clearing her throat suddenly, she asked, "So... er, How do you like school so far?" She absently played with a stray strand of hair, pointedly looking anywhere but at the Boy who Lived.

Harry replied immediately, "Classes are not what I expected. They are much less intensive than my usual courses, and they ask much less of me. Although I do not find them as challenging as I would like, they are very interesting. I've never had class with other students before, it was a positive experience." Harry tried once again to force the corners of his mouth to turn upwards. This was, perhaps, an opportune time to practice smiling.

Ginny giggled at his feeble attempt and tried to manually correct his poor performance. The smell of butterscotch was strong on her breath, but he could still make out hints of lavender and vanilla. Harry stiffened at the contact of her fingers on his face. Sirius and Remus were the only people who initiated physical contact with him, always in the form of a hug or a pat on the back. Never in his life had he felt something like this: her cold, smooth fingers brushed against his face as she pushed up on the corners of his mouth. Her fingers traced over his lower lip, seemingly on accident.

His stomach turned over inside of his abdomen. It was a most uncomfortable sensation. Ginny didn't notice, as she was entirely focused on his mouth at the moment. "No no, you've got it all wrong! Like this. No, relax your face muscle! It's all in the cheeks..." Her laughter was music compared to the roaring din around them.

* * *

In a much darker and quieter room in Hogwarts, a different kind of gathering was taking place. The 9 members of this particular gathering had black cloaks pulled up over their heads, concealing their identities even to each other. Their heads were bowed over a thick wooden table, pouring over detailed plans that had not yet been set in motion.

"Yes of course we can take her! I am fully confident that we can take her. That's hardly the question. The problem lies in where we can keep her!" A thin, reedy voice called out, clearly frustrated. "You know as well as I do that the Ministry will be doing everything in their power to find her! They're watching our properties, you know that. Anyone our families come in contact with is suspect, and they will be very thorough about it. We need someplace quiet and isolated, unplottable, and most of all far away from here. Keep your eyes and ears open. We move as soon as we have found a suitable place, not before."

As the cloaked people began to scoot their chairs back, a quiet and arrogant voice in the back said, "What if I told you that I have already found a suitable place? Would you be able to move your plan forward to, let's see... this Saturday?" Through the dark shadows obscuring the man's face, a lopsided smirk was visible. A pale, aristocratic nose peeked through the shadows, only to be enveloped again in shadow a moment later. "Because I've got JUST the place for our guest of honor." The cloaked man laughed darkly.


	3. Instincts

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter III: Instincts

All week, Harry had felt more than a little on edge.

It wasn't that he was being threatened, precisely, more that his body told him to be on guard. He'd been at Hogwarts for nearly a week, and the long stretches of corridors with only two exits, constantly having his back to at least a dozen people and never quite being alone was beginning to fray his senses.

He saw threats everywhere. The boy barreling out of the Gryffindor Common Room as Harry was coming in would never know how close he was to meeting a sticky end. Harry's wand was half out of its holster when he realized what he was about to do. This was Hogwarts! There were no enemies at Hogwarts, it was just a normal wizarding school full of normal witches and wizards.

No matter how many times he told himself that, he could never quite believe it. The Boy who Lived was not a fool, despite his unusual speech patterns and ignorance of social customs. He knew that there were people in the school who hated him. Despised him, even, though he knew not why. They hid it well, admittedly, but Harry had not spent the last decade twiddling his thumbs.

It was almost legilimency, what he did. He would look someone in the eyes and barriers would be broken. Your eyes never lied. So Harry knew when someone hated him, as surely as he knew the sun was rising when he saw the dawn break over the horizon. There were at least a dozen students with eyes like that, but most of them were what he would expect from teenagers. There were a few exceptions.

There were people in Hogwarts with eyes that smoldered with hatred. The kind of hate you see only on the battlefield, in the eyes of men whose brothers had just died in their arms. Hate usually reserved for people who have had a long and prosperous life of killing.

Harry couldn't blame them, actually. He had been a soldier for a full decade, and killing was part of his job. There were people that would not be taken alive, though alive was the usual preference, and there were people that needed to be removed from the world. At least, that's what the Ministry always told him.

As he left the Great Hall for his Friday routine, he remembered the time he'd been called to a regal manor to deal with a group of muggle-killers who had holed up in there. He was 14 at the time. The manor was owned by a muggle family, and the renegade wizards made no secret of the fact that they had killed them. The mom and dad were first, they tried to make the kids choose who would die. The kids were too young to be violated sexually, thank Merlin, and were spared a long and horrible death. The killing curse was painless, Harry had been told, although there was nothing painless about the way the dead muggles were tied to the ramparts.

Harry had wasted no time when the orders came down to terminate the enemy force. He had leveled that house of marble and stone, bringing it down on those hateful people and crushing them under a mountain of rock. Their screams were short. A quick death was the only luxury that Harry knew how to afford an enemy.

Once you kill someone, your outlook on life is irreversibly changed. Harry had killed his first wizard when he was 8 years old, when a band of death eaters had gotten wind of Harry's location and attempted to murder him in his room in the middle of the night. The cutting curse had nearly split one of the men in two, and he had undergone weeks of unnecessary psychological counseling to make sure he was not insane. After all, what 8 year old boy runs to the aid of his teachers in a surprise attack? And what 8 year old boy could kill a man and go back to sleep within a half hour?

Harry had been well trained. Even as young as 8, he had known that he would kill men, many men. It mattered not to Harry that the man had a family. It mattered not that the man had friends, or money or power. What mattered was that the man was trying to murder people, and the Boy who Lived would never lose sleep over a man like that. He felt ... strangely fulfilled when he killed that man. That was a man that would never attack his family or his teachers again. And that made Harry feel better. He was protecting people in the only way he knew how.

* * *

After another moderately difficult swim, Harry waved himself dry and ate breakfast again at the Faculty table. He had grown up around his teachers, and the fact that the professors at Hogwarts were inviting him up to the table on a daily basis was very much appreciated by the green-eyed 6th year. It brought a sense of normality to his otherwise altered life. He was out of his element, and these professors went out of their way to make sure he wasn't feeling like an outsider.

"So Harry, what do you think of Hogwarts thus far?" Asked Headmaster Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling in usual fashion. Harry hadn't seen him since he was 12 years old, and the man hadn't changed at all. It was strangely comforting.

Harry answered honestly, "I feel constantly on edge, Sir. Like there is someone out there waiting for the right moment to strike, and I have to be ready for them. I know it's foolish, but my instincts are telling me that something is about to happen. Something big. Perhaps it's because I am here, where there shouldn't be anything very dangerous. Perhaps my mind is making it all up. It's possible that I have not yet adjusted to my surroundings, this might be my mind's way of telling me to keep my eyes open."

His green eyes looked thoughtful for a moment, then they snapped back into clarity. "It will not interfere with my mission. I will deal with this."

* * *

Ron and Hermione met him for lunch, eating at the far end of the table where there was nobody to interrupt. "You say you feel on edge?" Ron asked in a hushed whisper. "What does that mean?"

Harry responded, "I don't know. It could just be the unfamiliar surroundings, but I have been feeling very tense over the last several days. I have been trained to operate at a very high level of stress for up to one week, but after that my level of awareness begins to deteriorate to unacceptable levels. I'm not certain how much longer this feeling will last, but I've got 3 days to find out."

Hermione asked the next question. "You say 'operate at a very high level of stress', but what does that mean? It sounds to me like you're saying you have relaxed in 4 days." She looked very serious, her brown eyes boring into Harry's green ones. He checked his watch.

"Almost. I have slept 50 minutes during the last 102 hours, broken up into 2 25-minute sleep cycles once every other day. It will begin to wear me down at about 150 hours, but I will maintain a suitable level of awareness until then. So far I have found nothing that would lead me to believe that any of us are in any unusual amount of danger, but I have to trust my instincts." Harry rubbed the back of his head automatically, looking quite alert for such a long time without a decent amount of sleep.

Ron just shot him a look that bordered on disbelief. "You've been up for 4 days with less than an hour's sleep because you feel like something's about to happen? Merlin's balls, Harry, you've got nothing to worry about! Voldemort is dead, you killed him yourself. His lackeys are either hiding or in Azkaban getting four-star treatment from the dementors. There is no reason for you to push yourself like this. Dumbledore is here, you know. He's not too shabby in the magical power department. It's his job to make sure nothing happens to us, and I think he's done a capital job so far."

The redhead reached up slowly and patted Harry on the back. Very slowly. The first time he tried to slap Harry on the back, he got his shoulder dislocated. Harry apologized profusely, but Ron just shrugged it off. Madam Pomfrey had it fixed up good as new within the hour, anyway. It was a sign of just how long Harry had been surviving without friends to speak of. Sure, he had his fellow soldiers, but were those really friends? Ron wasn't too sure, if an innocent thing like a pat on the back could be mistaken for a threat.

Slowly but surely, Harry was showing signs of progress. He could half-smile, but only with the right side of his mouth. It came out looking more like a smirk because it didn't reach his eyes, but Ron knew better than to comment. The redheaded boy had to move very slowly so Harry could consciously suppress his usual automatic reaction when someone touched him.

"I know just the thing to take your mind off of this rubbish. Follow me." Ron stood up with a grin and walked quickly out of the Great Hall. Hermione and Harry followed him, both curious.

* * *

"It's not very new, but it will get you in the air. D'you know how to fly?" Ron asked, proudly offering Harry his Comet 260 broomstick. It was meticulously cleaned, but Harry could tell that it was indeed quite old. Brooms were something of a hobby to Harry, he would spend quite a good portion of his free time looking through issues of _Which Broomstick?_ and learning everything he could about them.

Harry took the broom and nodded. "I have some flying experience, nothing professional. 0 to 70 in 10 seconds, lists slightly to the right with heavy use, due to an improperly balanced tail. Good rate of ascension, great cornering ability, good top speed and acceleration. It appears you take excellent care of it." Thanking Ron, the Boy who Lived mounted the broom and took off into the clear blue sky.

Looping, corkscrewing, diving headfirst towards the ground, Harry never knew such freedom as he had on a broomstick. The world was so much smaller when viewed from the back of a broom, as if anywhere you wanted to be was just around the corner. It was wonderful. The Boy who Lived could almost forget that something felt terribly wrong at Hogwarts.

* * *

That night, surprisingly, there was no party in the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron helped his girlfriend through the portrait door and whined. "Hermione, would you PLEASE let me borrow your Charms notes? I've learned my lesson, the homework is due tomorrow, I'll never forget my quill again, just have mercy!" The redheaded boy was on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. He appeared on the verge of tears, sniffing dramatically as he begged his girlfriend for help.

With an exasperated sigh, Hermione relented. "I know better than to believe you when you say it's the last time, because that's what you say every time, but alright. You can borrow my notes, Ron, so get up off of the floor already. But don't even think of asking me to do it for you, that was a one-time thing because you were in the hospital wing!" She glared down at him imperiously, offering her hand. He took it like it was a lifeline in a raging storm, you could almost see the salvation radiating off of her.

Ron stood again, hugging her tightly and affirming her. "You're a life saver, the most brilliant witch who ever lived, the best girlfriend in the world, a wonderful example of human kindness, a fantastic kisser-"

"That's enough, Ron!" Hermione flushed crimson, shushing her boyfriend and muttering under her breath about how flattery wouldn't get him anywhere. "My notes are upstairs. Don't move a muscle, don't speak a word until I get back!" She pointed an accusatory finger, daring him to disobey her. That said, she positively sprinted up the stairs towards her dormitory.

As soon as she was out of sight, Ron let out a wistful sigh and said more to himself than Harry. "She really is great, you know. I'm not just saying that because she's saving my grades or anything. I wonder what she ever saw in a bloke like me, when she's got so much going for her." He put his hands to his face, rubbing harshly as he vented a little of his frustration. "And all I seem to do is steal her notes, waster her time and hold her back. I could've done that without being her boyfriend. I suppose I'm being selfish, aren't I? I mean, there are much better blokes out there who would be thrilled to be going with a girl as good as Hermione, blokes that would definitely make her happy. But I can't let her go... What can I do?"

Harry blinked, peering at his redheaded friend blankly. Ron chuckled, "And why am I asking you? I'm sorry for letting out on you like that, I usually don't talk to blokes about things other than Quidditch. I just get the feeling that she's way too good for me. That she deserves better, and I can't give it to her. That's a really depressing feeling, believe me." The redheaded 6th year looked at him, suddenly serious. "You're better, you know. I wouldn't take it very hard if she left me for you. I might even be okay with it, as long as she was happy."

Shaking his head, Harry answered his friend in his signature monotone. "I was not instructed to become attached to any individuals, and it would not be advantageous to occupy my mind unnecessarily."

Harry tentatively raised his hand and clasped it on Ron's shoulder, imitating the motion that the redhead had used on him. In a much more quiet voice, the Boy who Lived continued, "I have no prior experience to draw on, but it is my understanding that a girl will not become attached to you because of who you might become someday. She will become attached to you because of who you are now. You are Ron Weasley, and that is why Hermione is attached to you."

Ron stared at Harry with an unreadable expression, a full minute dragged by before he spoke. "Bloody hell, Harry. You make it sound so simple." He paused again, a small smile coming to his freckled face. "And maybe it is. Thanks, mate. I guess I needed to hear that."

A comfortable silence stretched out between them for a short while, where nothing could be or needed to be said. Harry sat down in an armchair next to the fireplace, and Ron took up the pose that he had when Hermione left.

Sure enough, the bushy-haired Gryffindor came bolting back down the stairs panting hard. "Buried, as usual. Alright, here you are." She pushed a large notebook with worn edges into Ron's eager hands, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him. "Do your homework and maybe we can ... study later in the library." She winked brightly, then spun on her heel and walked over to where Harry was sitting.

Crouching down next to the armchair and speaking in a hushed voice, Hermione informed him, "Sorry that took so long, Harry. I was just talking to Ginny, she locked herself in her room. Apparently a 6th year Ravenclaw has taken a liking to her and been a little too forceful in telling her about it. He hit her, Harry, and now she's scared to go out alone. I know you just ate, but could you take her to the Great Hall so she will eat something? She missed lunch, she must be famished by now."

Nodding, Harry made his way over to the steps up to the female dormitories. No sooner had his foot come down on the first step up than the entire stairway went flat, causing his foot to slip back down to ground level again. Perplexed, Harry stepped backwards. The stairway reverted back to its original form. He squinted, examining the strange wards.

Interesting.

Before Hermione remembered that boys couldn't go up to the girl's dormitories, Harry put his hand on the wall. A hot pulse of magical energy hit her, powerful enough to make her flinch even from halfway across the common room. Her breath caught in her throat as she spun around to face the stairway. It was the same thing she had felt when Harry filled the Transfiguration corridor with those horrid spikes.

But upon closer inspection, Hermione didn't notice anything different about the stairway. Nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary. Then Harry started up the stairs again.

Hermione could only stare as the Boy who Lived climbed the steps, which were amazingly still steps, to the girl's dorm.

* * *

Ginny was having a horrid day. First she woke up with a butterbeer hangover. The sickly sweet aftertaste in her mouth didn't help her headache, although hangover was too strong a term to use in conjunction with the drink. It was only slightly more alcoholic than pure water, after all! Still, this was a much fiercer hangover than the butterbeer should have given her.

After cleaning herself up and running a hot bath, which she promptly fell asleep in, she ran through the hallways and reached her Charms class a full hour late. Professor Flitwick was not happy, but he didn't punish her too severely when he saw that she hadn't even dried her hair.

Several of the girls laughed at her, pointing rudely. She knew she didn't look terribly attractive with wet hair, but they didn't have to rub it in! She grit her teeth in frustration. Then she caught Harry looking at her curiously. Her face went scarlet and she buried her head in her hands. Of course he'd be looking, he always saw her at her least glamorous. Images from the night before flooded through her head, causing her to blush an even deeper shade of red. Someone must've slipped something in her drink, there was no way she would've done that sober.

So she faked a stomachache, left class immediately and headed to the Hospital Wing for a hangover potion. Madam Pomfrey was discreet, and knew not to make a fuss about such things.

* * *

One top-notch hangover potion later, she found herself practically skipping back to Gryffindor House. Everyone was at lunch already, but she was hangover-free and her hair had dried. She didn't think anything could bring her spirits down just now. "Ginny?" Came a timid voice from a dark alcove next to her.

Curious, she answered, "Yeah. Who's there?" She slowed to a stop and waited for a reply.

A tall boy with dark wavy hair materialized in front of her, almost startling her. She'd seen him before in her Quidditch matches, he was a beater for Ravenclaw. What was his name, Cobber? Corning? Crony?

"It's Micheal Corner, you remember me don't you?" He asked hopefully, almost seeming hurt by her silence.

It clicked in her head. "Right! I almost had it, sorry 'bout that. What can I do for you, Mr. Corner?" She said cheerily, taking no note of his rapidly coloring cheeks.

"Well that's the thing, isn't it..." Micheal muttered. "You see..., I mean..." He sighed, frustrated. "Look, I like you. I really like you a lot, and was wondering, hoping, you would go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow!" He blurted out, quite a bit more loudly than absolutely necessary.

Ginny blinked, then backpedaled in her mind frantically. She had never had a conversation with this boy before, and he was asking her on a date? She wasn't the type to humiliate someone who had worked up the nerve to ask her out, but she'd be mad to just blindly agree to something like that!

She stammered, "Well, I don't exactly know you, do I? I mean, I know your name, but that's about all. You're a decent beater, broke up a couple of our plays in last years match, but I really don't know you well enough for something like this. Let's start a little slower, Micheal?" Going a little red herself, she was once again reminded how much she hated turning people down. It made her feel cruel seeing the hurt look on his face.

The hurt was quickly replaced by something else. Anger. She could feel it building, charging the air around them with a sort of electric intensity.

"What?" Micheal hissed, his eyes boring into her. Ginny felt awfully small, standing before the muscular beater. He was at least 6 feet tall, too, and that didn't help her much. "So that's it? You're just going to reject me without even giving me a chance? I thought you'd understand!" He was straining to remain motionless, but the veins were bulging clearly on his neck.

He seethed, "Fine! Go back to your precious sodding Potter, he's only in it for the shag anyway! Merlin knows he's heard enough stories to know you're hard up for it!"

Ginny was a rational woman, with a knack for staying calm in otherwise chaotic situations. True, she had her famous Weasley temper, but it was kept firmly in check most of the time. But for some reason, the idea of this boy calling her a whore and saying Harry Potter was just trying to get in her knickers really pissed her off, especially the part about Harry. She could shrug off just about anything that was said about her as long as it was false, but how dare he insult the man who had saved the Wizarding World?

A scowl crossed her face, she reared back and slapped Micheal ringingly. "Don't you talk about Harry like that!" She shouted at him before she could stop herself. Inwardly, she berated herself. Micheal was a lot bigger than her brothers...

A moment of silence stretched out between them, supercharging the air with tense anticipation. Micheal lifted his hand to his cheek disbelievingly. "You..." His jaw clenched. He balled up his fist and backhanded her. "You bitch! How could you do this to me?!"

The force of the blow sent Ginny toppling over backwards onto the hard granite floor. Her vision swam, motes of light appeared at the corners of her vision. The blow was accompanied by a wet popping sound that reverberated in her skull. Her jaw seemed loose, like someone had disconnected all the muscles from it and let it swing freely under her head. Reaching her hand up to gently touch the area, she cried out in pain as the sudden pressure rubbed bone against bone. He had dislocated her jaw.

Micheal's voice lost all of its fury when he heard her cry of pain. "Dammit! I'm so sorry, Ginny, I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't mean to do that just now, I just get so angry... You made me so angry..." Micheal stammered, staring wide-eyed down at her prone form as she tenderly held her jaw. Her lip was beginning to swell from the impact of the blow. "Here, let me help you up." He reached down to help her back on her feet, and she shrank away from him.

Cringing, he backed off a step. This wasn't how he planned it, it wasn't supposed to be like this. She would accept his offer, they'd go on a date, get to know each other and spend long nights up on the astronomy tower. What had he done? He turned on his heel and stomped off down the hallway. He was so angry at himself, at Ginny... He needed to clear his head before he talked to her again.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey was understandably surprised to see Ginny Weasley walking back into the Hospital Wing so soon. Especially once she saw the dark bruise on the left side of her mouth, accented with a small trickle of blood coming from her lip. "Good heavens, child! What happened?"

Ginny looked at the matronly woman and shook her head, tears spilling down the sides of her cheeks. The pain had dulled to a pulsing throb, but it still hurt too much to speak. So she pointed to her jaw, then balled up a fist and slapped her open hand over it making a loud thwack! sound.

The brown-haired medi-witch knew the sign language Ginny was using, and her face darkened. "I'll get you fixed up, Ms. Weasley, and when you feel like talking you just tell me that bastard's name." She ushered the 5th year Gryffindor to a vacant bed and pulled up a tray of potions.

* * *

So when a polite knock came on the wooden door of Ginny's room, she was understandably irritated about it. "For the last time, Hermione, just leave me alone! I can sort my own problems out, so stop mothering me!"

A distinctly masculine yet monotonous voice came through the door. "It's Harry. I am here to escort you to dinner." He said simply.

Ginny stared at the door, unknowing or uncaring that she couldn't see Harry through it. "What?" She asked weakly.

"It's Harry. I am here to escort you to dinner." With a series of clicks every single one of her locks, magical or muggle, was opened. Harry turned the knob and pushed on the door, making eye contact with the youngest Weasley. "Hermione said that a boy was bothering you, so I will accompany you at dinner tonight."

Ginny's mind reeled. She could have killed Hermione for meddling, but she could have kissed her too! She'd have to get changed, she wasn't dressed for company. Her low-cut sleeping gown and a pair of fuzzy green slippers were all she had on, in fact. She looked down and saw how much of her chest was exposed to the boy who somehow made it up to the girl's dormitory. As her mind accepted her current state of undress, she screamed, "Close the door, Harry!" and covered her chest protectively.

Harry nodded, stepped into the room, and shut the door behind him. He turned and looked at her expectantly.

Ginny was so apoplectic she could have throttled him. Was he only pretending to be this dense, or did people like him actually exist?! "No! You wait outside!" She barked at him, throwing pillows at him until the door was shut firmly behind him. Panting, she collapsed on her bed and covered her face in her pillow, emitting a frustrated, muffled scream as she kicked her legs.

* * *

Outside, Harry stood rigidly and wondered what had brought on the sudden barrage of pillows and shouting. Had he done something wrong again? He knit his brow in concern and pondered.

* * *

Less than five minutes later, a much more clothed and faintly blushing Ginny Weasley peeked out of her room cautiously. Harry was still standing rigidly, waiting for her. He was even facing outward, as if guarding her door. He was so serious, and looked so much like an Auror it was almost comical! Despite her best efforts, she giggled. Her apprehension dissipated like a morning fog. He turned and made eye contact. "Are you ready?"

Ginny nodded through her bubbling laughter, falling in behind Harry as he led the way down the stairs again. He paused at the bottom, touching the steps before they left for the Great Hall.

* * *

Ginny received quite a few stares walking through the door right behind Harry, already she could hear the rumors start to circulate. By tomorrow morning, who knows what gossips would be saying about Harry and her?

They hadn't run into Micheal yet, thankfully, and Ginny wanted nothing more than to wolf down her food and leave as soon as possible. She sat down close to the entrance and Harry sat down right next to her.

There was nobody on either side of them for at least five feet, which Harry approved of. He sat close enough to Ginny to be within arms reach, but far enough away that he could maneuver if he needed to.

Plates of food popped into existence in front of them, and Ginny picked up her fork hungrily. She hadn't eaten lunch today, so her stomach rumbled loudly upon smelling the Salisbury steak and mince pies that filled the table in front of her. Harry merely stared blankly off into space. It was a little disconcerting, she could feel his eyes sweep over her every few seconds even though she could clearly see that his eyes weren't moving. Shaking her head, she cut off a chunk of steak and chewed it quickly.

Harry saw a Ravenclaw enter the Great Hall and approach the Gryffindor table where they were seated. Highly irregular behavior for a member of his house, and his eyes were focused entirely on Ginny. It was highly probable that this was the boy that Hermione spoke of.

The boy, who was quite tall for a student, stopped behind the youngest Weasley. Harry didn't stop him, as he wasn't physically touching her or threatening her. Yet. "Ginny, look. I need to apologize for the way I acted today, there was no call for it."

Ginny stiffened at the sound of his voice, but otherwise did not respond.

"C'mon Ginny, don't be cruel. I mean it, I never meant to hurt you at all. Things just happened so fast, you have to believe me. I wanted it to be different!"

Her flame-red hair obscured her face completely from Micheal Corner. "Will you please just listen to me!" He protested, and Ginny finally had enough.

Without turning her head, she said, "Micheal, whatever you thought there could have been between us, there's no chance that it'll happen now. Just leave me alone, please." Her shoulders were shaking, whether from anger or sadness Harry couldn't tell.

This was not the answer Micheal was looking for. He'd just embarrassed himself in front of most of the students and some of the teachers at Hogwarts, and by tomorrow everyone would know about it. His temper flared. Nobody spoke like that to him!

He reached out to grab her shoulder, to turn her around and show her why nobody made a fool of Micheal Corner.

Only his hand never reached her. Harry had intercepted his arm at the wrist, stopping it cold.

Micheal hesitated, shocked that the Boy who Lived had managed to snatch his hand out of the air. Shocked that the green-eyed boy was substantially stronger than he looked. And most of all, shocked that no matter how he struggled Harry's grip never loosened in the slightest.

Ginny wasn't the only one to notice this struggle. Nearly every head in the Great Hall was swiveled around to watch the exchange.

"She asked you to leave." Harry said patiently, squeezing Micheal's wrist a little tighter and then letting him go. The Ravenclaw beater felt his bones creak dangerously as a thin dagger of pain lanced his forearm. He drew his arm back reflexively. "It's time for you to do as she asked." There was no malice, no anger at all in his voice. He might have been discussing the latest exchange rates from Gringotts, for all the emotion in his voice. His eyes were another story.

They were blazing emerald orbs, raw power seemed to radiate from them. Ginny caught herself staring and couldn't bring herself to look anywhere else. It wasn't rage that she saw in his eyes, but an entirely overwhelming sense of control. As if he could tell the sun not to rise in the morning and it would obey without question.

Micheal either didn't see it or didn't care. No sooner had he regained his senses then he swung down at the Boy who Lived. Harry's open palm instantly met with the Ravenclaw's sternum, and the contact sent a searing pulse of magical energy outward like a thunderclap.

Micheal flew backwards, impacting the Hufflepuff table and crashing into plates and goblets. He rolled over the table and off the other side. A surprised cry came from an onlooker who was grazed by the head of the 6 foot tall beater. Micheal hit the floor with a muted thud and didn't move at all. If Ginny didn't know better, she'd assume he was hit with a full-body bind curse. Corner remained completely motionless, and Harry swept his eyes over the nearby students. "Leave him." He said to them. Nobody lifted a finger to help the fallen Ravenclaw.

Ginny noticed he still wasn't moving, and although she knew it was foolish of her she was worried that the blow might have seriously injured the boy. "Harry, why isn't Micheal moving? We should take him to the hospital wing." She whispered, hoping nobody could hear the concern in her voice.

"Don't worry about him. I used a paralyzing curse. He will not die from this." Ginny was a little worried about that. Nothing said about pain or broken bones or internal damage, just that he wouldn't die? She shuddered involuntarily.

Harry looked at her seriously. "He attacked you. You should not concern yourself with his well-being. Please eat, Ginny." He motioned to her food, which had barely been touched.

The youngest Weasley looked at him with a sense of wonder. She didn't understand how he could be so calm after something like that. Her hands were shaking from the adrenaline flowing through her veins, and he was calmly telling her to eat something?

Allowing herself a small smile, she picked up her fork with a trembling hand and dug into her Salisbury steak again. Although she couldn't really explain why, she felt like she understood the Boy who Lived a little better now.

* * *

Strangely enough, the three professors that witnessed the exchange didn't even appear to notice it. Ginny knew they couldn't have missed Micheal Corner being tossed casually over the Hufflepuff table, but for some unexplained reason they chose to look the other way. It must be nice being Harry Potter, getting away with such a sound thrashing scot-free.

As they left the Great Hall, Ginny waited until they were safely around the corner before she said, "Harry, wait a minute."

Harry stopped in his tracks, turning around and looking at Ginny. "What do you want me to do?" He said, waiting patiently for her to make her purpose clear to him. If she had requests, he'd do his best to follow them without compromising his primary objectives.

"Just ... wait." She said. Well, waiting was something that Harry was quite proficient in.

Taking a step closer to the black-haired 6th year, she could feel her heartbeat speeding up again. She could make out the scent of his shampoo, as plain as it was, and his slow, steady breathing. Her brilliant red hair fell in cascades against his chest, and he made no move to back away from her.

"I just wanted to say thank you for saving me." Slowly, she lifted her arms and put her hands on his shoulders, which tensed up immediately but subsequently relaxed. She pulled his head down and tilted her head up to meet his.

Harry felt her lips brush against his cheek, a wave of electricity shot out from the point of contact, causing a shiver to run up his spine. It was brief, but Harry raised his hand to the spot. His face confirmed he was more than a little shocked.

"So thank you, Mr. Potter." Ginny breathed, letting go of him.

Unbidden, the corners of his mouth turned up very slightly as soothing warmth spread through his face. He wasn't entirely certain what this warmth meant, but it felt very pleasant.

"Harry, you just smiled." she whispered, brushing past him with a grin and continuing up to the Gryffindor Common room.

Harry stayed rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the place Ginny just vacated, his hand still on his cheek.

* * *

Ginny hummed herself a quiet tune as she topped the last flight of stairs on her way to the portrait hole.

The morning had started out terribly and gotten worse, but all things considered it was a damn fine day. _And tomorrow should be even better_. The notion brought a wide smirk to her face.

The portrait smiled at her knowingly. "It's nice to see that you've had a decent night, dear. Password?" Suddenly, the woman in the portrait gasped, looking over Ginny's shoulder. That was all the warning she had.

She heard a reedy voice say, "Stupefy!" and darkness enveloped her.

* * *

A short while later, Harry was still motionless standing outside the Great Hall. He saw a white translucent creature fly through the wall of the corridor and raised his hand to intercept what looked like a large ghostly bird. The creature passed right through his barrier and hit him squarely in the face, but there was no impact. "Harry, come to my office immediately. Password acid drops." A voice spoke inside of his head. The Boy who Lived recognized the voice as Professor Dumbledore's, and his instincts took over as he bolted down the hall at a dead run.

About 45 seconds and 3 flights of stairs later, Harry found himself at the oaken double doors of the Headmaster's office and breathing harder than normal.

"Come in, Harry, and shut the door behind you." came the voice from inside.

Harry complied and stood rigidly at attention. "Sir!" He barked. Dumbledore had orders for him, he could feel it. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the feeling he'd been having for the last 4 days.

"Well, I think I'll start with the facts. Ginny Weasley was taken off of school property less than 10 minutes ago by a group of 3 students. As much as I loathe admitting this, it appears she has been kidnapped. She is the Minister of Magic's daughter. If this isn't handled quietly and immediately, we could have an incredibly serious problem on our hands. I have relied upon you in the past, Harry, and now I must rely upon you again. As such..."

Drawing in a deep breath, Dumbledore spoke in a commanding voice. "I order you to gather up any necessary supplies and follow the kidnappers. Be as discreet as possible. Your primary objective is to return to Hogwarts with Miss Weasley and her captors. I will meet you at the gates with Aurors who will detain any and all suspects involved in her kidnapping. I will authorize the use of necessary force only, deadly force is prohibited except in defense of your life, or the life of Miss Weasley. I authorize you to make any number of portkeys you find necessary pursuant to your primary objective. I authorize you to transmute any and all equipment you find necessary pursuant to your primary objective.

"We do not yet know who kidnapped her, or why. Your secondary objectives are to gather information on motivation or monetary backing and determine the exact geographical location of the area. If you can determine the geographical location, I authorize you to make a tuned portkey for Kingsley Shacklebolt that will take him there. All information regarding this mission is classified, Alpha clearance only."

Harry nodded, accepting his mission. One last pulse of anger coursed through him as he berated himself for allowing Ginny to be kidnapped so easily. Then Harry shut his eyes, and a wave of calm flooded over him as he focused completely on the job at hand. He wouldn't need much, Dumbledore had authorized the use of transmutation to acquire anything he didn't bring.

"Headmaster, I will need the kidnappers last known location and 5 minutes to prepare." Harry said, his voice strong and steady.

Dumbledore smiled brightly at the boy, no, the man before him. "Granted." He said, touching his head with his wand and drawing out a view of the area Ginny occupied right before she was carried through the wards of Hogwarts.

Harry turned on his heel and walked calmly out of the Headmaster's office. No matter how rushed he was for time he could not ignore officer's protocol. You never ran inside an office.

"Oh, and Harry?" Dumbledore called after him as he descended the steps rapidly.

Harry turned and called back, "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Remove your limiters." Dumbledore's voice carried the order down to the Boy who Lived, who immediately replied, "Yes, Sir!"


	4. Limits

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter IV: Limits

"Yes, Sir!" Harry yelled.

He pulled off his wizard's robes and vanished them with a flick of his wrist, exposing his chiseled chest and a pair of loose grey sweatpants. Pitch black bracers enveloped both his forearms, sucking in the light. Crossing his arms quickly, Harry clicked the locks open and ripped the bracers from his arms.

The moment the magical dampeners left his arms, Harry felt the full extent of his power well up inside of him in torrents. The world grew brighter, sharper, full of colors and smells and sounds that were suppressed along with his magical ability. Excitement grew in him. He could feel again!

"2 minutes, Headmaster." He corrected his own estimate of how long it would take him to prepare for his mission. His voice even felt stronger, more in command of itself. With all necessary haste, Harry pushed his fingers into the granite floor next to Dumbledore's office. They sank in without resistance, and the Boy who Lived pulled a thick strand of granite up to waist level. It was still connected to the ground.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and shot off like a firework. He gripped the strand of granite tightly as he was pushed down the corridor at breakneck speeds. The floor itself was moving under Harry's feet, propelling him down the hallway fast enough to make the wind whip around his messy black hair.

Rounding the corner, Harry's moving granite floor reached the staircase up to the Gryffindor Common Room. As soon as he was clear of the low ceiling of the hallway he bent his knees to absorb the impending shock. The moving floor blasted upwards violently, sending the Boy who Lived flying up an entire level.

As he reached the railing, he stuck out his hand and vaulted over it, creating another moving granite platform that rapidly carried him to the portrait hole. Lifting his free hand, he extended it out in front of him and jumped.

The portrait screamed as he dived headfirst into the stone wall next to her. Rather than impacting it spectacularly, Harry passed through it as if it were stone-colored water.

A first-year Gryffindor screamed in like fashion as a strange bare-chested man materialized in the solid granite wall, rolling and coming up at a dead run up the stairs to his dormitory. He was there and gone so fast, the young girl thought it must've been an illusion. After all, everyone knew you couldn't go through rock like that!

Reaching his room, Harry threw open his duffle bag and pulled out his combat uniform and invisibility cloak. 15 seconds later, he was changed with his wand in its holster. He pulled a large black toothpick out of the small pocket on his duffle bag and enlarged it. With a soft pop a broom with no twigs appeared in front of him. It had a diamond-shaped tail with a triangular fin on the underside of that, and was entirely black. He mounted it and shot out of the window, heading towards the last known area that the kidnappers were before they left the wards.

He had a mission. The sense of fulfillment swelled in him, steeling his resolve and driving him on.

* * *

It only took him five minutes to find what he was looking for, a portkey signature. Apparently, the kidnappers didn't bother finding out that portkey signatures were one of his specialties. 3 people had traveled, the signature was less than half a mile from the wards and it was very fresh. The threads of the signature weren't frayed at all, which made it exceedingly easy to read. Within two minutes Harry had deciphered the portkey's destination. Picking up a dead branch, he replicated the signature and made a one-use portkey. He bent his knees to lower his center of gravity, so he could react quickly to anything on the other side.

He shrunk his broom and tucked it into its pouch as he considered his options. Truthfully, he had no clue what to expect. He had no intelligence on the number of enemies, their training, or their location. He could land in a locked prison cell with anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards slamming into place around him. He could be faced with any number of situations, most of them fatal.

Common sense would tell him to wait for a scouting group to report back with significant data, then to organize an assault group to carry out the rescue mission. Dumbledore had specified that it was on his shoulders alone, which seemed reckless considering the number of unknown variables.

He shook his head violently. This was not a choice, it was a mission! It was exactly what he wanted, what he _needed_. He was a soldier, and he had a job to do. A semblance of normalcy in what was proving to be a rather abnormal situation. He pulled out his wand and activated the portkey.

With a tug behind his navel, the Boy who Lived appeared in a stone courtyard surrounded by lush green grass. The courtyard had a path that led up to a large manor that looked more like a medieval castle. Three identical surprised yelps were emitted, followed by three blazingly fast stunners. All three guards flew backwards, twisting rapidly in the air from the tremendous force of the spells. They hit the ground simultaneously, none of them conscious. They were grown men, not the boys who left Hogwarts with Ginny.

Harry sheathed his wand, kneeling down and putting a hand on the ground. Closing his hand, he pulled a solid-metal revolver out of the stone. He couldn't use deadly force unless his life was in danger, but he would rather be prepared. After a quick inspection to ensure that he had completed the transmutation successfully, he reached into one of his pockets.

The pocket had nothing but fine glass dust and silver flakes in it, but when Harry pulled his hand out it contained a bullet. Glass and silver made the best projectiles. One by one, he made and loaded bullets into his revolver. He snapped the cylinder into place and surreptitiously tucked the pistol into his belt, surveying his surroundings as he walked cautiously towards the manor. No alarms had been raised yet. Good. Household magical detection wards were far too common to take chances, so he didn't pull out his wand. He could remain undetected much longer if he didn't use any form of magic inside of the manor.

Luckily for him, the guard inside was less than adequate. He didn't even have his wand out! Harry donned his invisibility cloak and walked straight up to the armed man, circling around behind him and casually taking off the cloak. The man still couldn't see him, so he pocketed the cloak first. He'd need both hands for this, as he didn't want to use magic and give away his presence.

Reaching around the guard's neck with his right hand, Harry bent him over backwards and quickly clasped his left hand over the man's mouth. The struggling was muted, as every time the man would squirm Harry would squeeze his throat a little more. When the unfortunate man reached for his wand, Harry pinched hard, cutting off his air supply and the blood flowing to his brain. Unable to breathe and quickly losing consciousness, the man got the idea and raised his hands in a show of surrender.

"Where is she. Quietly." Harry didn't ask, his whisper promising cruel and unusually painful things. He released the man's mouth and lessened the pressure on his neck so he could speak.

The man caught a breath of fresh air and said in his quietest voice, "I was just told to watch out for people, I don't know anything about any girl. I just watch, that's all. Give me a break!"

Harry clasped his hand tightly over the man's mouth again, who began to struggle in earnest. His hands flailed, clawing at the Gryffindor's face and kicking out, stamping, making as much noise as he could. It wasn't much. Negligible, really, as very quickly things were going to get a lot worse for him.

"A break." He repeated, his right hand snaking out and snatching the man's flailing hand out of midair. Twisting sharply, Harry broke the thin bone that supported muscles attached to the thumb. The man writhed and let out a muffled scream, but the 6th year's grip was too strong. "205 more bones in your body. I've got as long as it takes. Save yourself the pain." The man was sweating profusely, his struggling had waned as his mind tried to overcome system shock. Seconds ticked by, the man unwilling or unable to speak under the circumstances.

Maybe he needed a little more incentive. The scaphoid was the easiest and least painful bone to break in the wrist, and he still had the carpals and metacarpals before he moved on to the rest of the hand. The anatomy classes he had taken were proving to be incredibly useful, considering they had taught him to do exactly this.

Without warning, Harry's hand wrenched viciously in a jagged W movement. 7 consecutive wet cracking sounds were heard as the Boy who Lived crushed every delicate bone in the man's wrist. "198 bones left." The man howled behind Harry's hand, his eyes bugging out as the pain became unbearable. His hand would never operate at full efficiency again, even the best magical healers would never be able to straighten out his fingers. The man nodded furiously, beads of sweat rolling off of his face.

"Talk." Harry whispered. "Quietly."

After waiting for a few seconds, the Boy who Lived let off of the man's mouth slightly while he caught his breath. Broken bones made it hard to speak properly, as Harry well knew. The man gasped, gulping down ragged breaths of air as he convulsed from shock. He managed to steady his breathing enough to make coherent sentences.

He spoke in his softest whisper, agonizing over the thought that Harry (who still had a firm grip on his obviously broken wrist) would cause him more pain. "Stairs down the hall... three boys and a girl... Maybe they're yours... maybe not. Don't hurt me! I'll tell you whatever you want."

Harry balled up his fist and hit the man on the back of his head, knocking him out instantly. He had no further use for the man, and he was getting rather loud. It was only a matter of time before someone heard him. The 6th-year Gryffindor pulled the knocked-out guard into a dark alcove across the corridor and pushed him in until he was covered in shadow.

The stairs down the hall. Seemed easy enough. He donned his invisibility cloak again and crept down the hall, his senses on high alert. The door was ajar, so he eased it open and snuck silently down the stairs.

More than anything, it looked like a dungeon. A dank, moss-covered dungeon of stone with a wide, empty hallway and several rooms with thick iron containment bars for doors. None of the rooms were occupied, but the whole place reeked faintly of urine and blood.

As Harry reached the wooden door on the opposite end of the hallway, he heard voices inside. They were heavily muted, which led the Boy who Lived to believe that the door was thicker than he could break down physically. If the door was locked, he'd just use his Godfather's knife.

Reaching into a utility pouch, Harry withdrew the blade and tested the lock. There was no audible sound, meaning the door was unlocked already, and the blade went back into its pouch. He still couldn't use magic, but there were other ways of hearing through doors. Remarkably simple ways, once you knew the trick. The Gryffindor put his chin firmly onto the door, letting the vibrations from the sound on the other side travel to his ear. It greatly amplified the sound, he could make out most of the words now.

A rich baritone voice was speaking. The boy enunciated clearly, and his accent sounded aristocratic. A wealthy Londoner, from the sound of it. "-care less about how that bitch thinks we should run things. Our way worked, no mistakes were made. We're here, we've got the girl, we're ABOUT to send our demands and she's sitting pretty in her mansion telling us we did it all wrong! No I'm not going to apologize, she's an incompetent bastard and he knows it! She flaunts it, for merlin's sake!"

A quieter, soothing voice spoke. This boy hadn't hit puberty yet, his voice was still quite high-pitched. Almost squeaky, with an accent that spoke volumes. This boy was most likely raised in an intelligent home, his logic was very sound. "I'm not getting into this with you. The point she's trying to make is that you were reckless."

The boy sighed, sounding tired and exasperated. He spoke again, slowly as if addressing a petulant child. "We weren't more than 500 yards from the wards when you used that portkey, they can track things like that you know. I wouldn't be surprised to find this place overrun come tomorrow morning. The ministry works quickly with this sort of thing. Especially if it's the Minister's daughter! You should have waited until Saturday, Hogsmeade would have covered our tracks infinitely better. We've got 2 hours, maybe 3 until they find our hideout. We'd better be gone by then."

Harry's standard operating procedure was clear about situations like this. Only 2 people speaking, but that didn't mean only 2 people. He didn't know who was in charge, or if any of them were. He'd get much more out of them if he waited until they gave him the information unknowingly. It was the only sure way to know if he was getting accurate information, which was far better than information given under duress. IUD (Information Under Duress, torturing for information) was vital in it's own way, but inferior. Memories could be tampered with, there were ways around truth serums if you were rich and powerful enough, and the spoken word was almost always wrong even under severe pain induction.

It was a grey area in some cases, but this was a rather clear-cut decision that had been made a decade ago. He was to wait, regardless of internal circumstance, until viable information was provided. If he didn't know who the leader was, he didn't know anything.

The Londoner spoke again, this time it was just as emphatic but slightly less clear. He was speaking away from the door. Usually, it meant he was either resting next to the door or looking at something or someone that happened to be in the other direction. "2 or 3 hours, eh... That's more than enough time for what I've got in mind. Unconscious and helpless is just my type." The sound of footsteps walking away from the door, muted clops. He was wearing leather-soled dress shoes. Completely unsuited for combat or escape. It was good news, but Harry felt his heart sink as the boy continued. "I'd like a bit of alone time with our esteemed guest, Adrian. Half an hour."

More footsteps. Softer, almost inaudible. The voice was less calm and a little more assertive. "I've risked my education, my reputation, and my life by coming here and helping you. I made the portkey, I provided a place to keep her, and those are my guards outside. All you've done so far is ruin my plans at every turn. Our orders were simple. Take the girl, keep her safe during negotiations. As soon as we get what we want, kill her. No part of that instruction said anything about sexual contact! I know you hate her, but do you really want to risk her anger?"

The aristocratic voice scoffed. "I couldn't care less about that smug little whore. Now get out before I start to lose my temper!"

There was a pause. The two boys were probably staring at each other, a silent contest of wills. It was obvious who would win. The softer voice gave in. "Fine. But don't bruise her face or her arms. She needs to look unhurt and unspoiled for negotiations to proceed. You've got 30 minutes." The sound of footsteps coming towards him. Perfect.

Pulling out his invisibility cloak, Harry covered himself in it and shrank back into the corner. The door opened and a lanky boy with sandy blonde hair marched out, stamping his feet loudly. He was clearly irritated, lines of anger etched into his face. "That bastard, who does he think he is..." He said to nobody in particular, kicking the door shut loudly and swearing. Judging from the fact that he was the only one to leave, that meant only one remained in there. This boy was useless to him.

Pain exploded in his head as a fist impacted it, then darkness claimed him.

The Boy who Lived silently dragged the limp form back to the corner and went back to the door. His orders were clear, but he couldn't just leave Ginny in there to be ...

Harry blinked. He'd seen horrible things in his life, things that no human being should ever have to witness. Things that would haunt normal civilians to the end of their days. It had never affected him much, he'd been witness to these things since he could remember. But the very thought of Miss Weasley being taken advantage of seemed unbearable to him. Something inside of him twisted painfully.

He didn't have any more time to waste, information seemed insignificant compared to what was about to happen in that room filled with unknowns. There was no rationalizing this feeling, no logic that could defeat it.

Balling up his fists, Harry's hand closed on the door and he ripped it open.

"I said half an hour, you bloody-" The voice cut off abruptly. The Londoner had dark brown hair, bluish grey eyes and a thin nose, he looked more confused than enraged. Obviously, he wasn't expecting visitors at this moment. His robes were cast off hurriedly, his white dress shirt was off and he was working on his pants. Ginny hadn't been touched yet, and the Gryffindor felt relief flooding him even as rage crackled inside of his eyes.

The boy looked to his right, where his wand was no doubt concealed within the pocket of his robes. That was a mistake he wouldn't have time to regret until he woke up. Harry cracked his knuckles and advanced on the boy. As much as he was trained to show no emotion, he was going to enjoy every moment of beating this boy.

The brown-haired wizard shook himself from his trancelike state and took up a fighting stance. It seemed less than adequate, as if he'd been trained out of boredom rather than necessity. "If you think you can waltz in here and take her, Potter, you've got another thing coming. I've been trained in boxing." The hunched posture, hands up to protect his face, his form wasn't bad. But boxing was far from a complete martial art, it didn't even take into account that your enemy might actually use his legs for something other than standing.

Harry's foot flashed out, his heel making contact with the boy's right kneecap. A suppressed crunch and a satisfying scream rang out as the blue-eyed wizard collapsed on the floor clutching at his ruined leg. It would take days to heal him enough to stand up, weeks before he could walk, and at least a month if he wanted to run. For good measure, Harry viciously kicked his knee in exactly the same spot. He was rewarded with another bloodcurdling scream and a newly broken hand.

"Who ordered you to take Ginny Weasley?" Harry asked, staring down at the boy with cold eyes. The brown-haired youth was rolling on the moist stone floor, the shout fading as his breath expired. He sucked in a ragged lungful of air and screamed again.

"I won't ask you again. You want to keep your other knee?" The threat was clear, and the boy wrapped his good arm around his good knee protectively, shaking his head to ward off more pain.

"Please no!" He whimpered, sounding quite pathetic. His nose was running, his eyes were leaking tears freely. No pain tolerance whatsoever. "Please, don't hurt me! It was all Adrian's idea, I was forced to come here!" He lied through his teeth. Harry didn't even need to think about this boy's trustworthiness.

"You're lying. You've got 3 seconds to give me a name or I start breaking you." He reached out towards the boy on the ground, who shrunk away in fear.

"Bellatrix Lestrange! It was all her idea, please don't hurt me anymore if you just leave me alone you'll never see me again!" He blurted out hastily, grating his teeth and sucking in a harsh breath as his shattered kneecap twisted under his skin. He stopped moving immediately.

Harry could tell he wasn't knowingly telling a lie. That was good enough. "Where can I find her?"

"Her mansion's in Essex, it's unplottable. There's a book at Hogwarts that has her floo password... Fortuna Juvat's the book! In the potions section!" He looked worried, as if his answer wasn't good enough. He began whimpering pitifully. "I can't take you there, this place doesn't have a floo. Please, don't kill me. I'll never do another bad thing as long as I live if you just let me go..."

Begging rarely worked in a wartime environment. The only chance it had was in your captor's good graces. Unfortunately for him, Harry had never been taught good graces. This was an enemy, out to harm him and the people around him.

"Sleep." Harry said, delivering a swift kick to the side of the boy's head. The brown-haired youth lost consciousness immediately.

After shoving the boy unceremoniously into a corner, he made his way towards the hostage. Ginny was laying face up on the floor unconscious. She looked peaceful, as if she wasn't about to be bartered about like a red haired bag of money and promptly murdered in thanks.

Her hair was fanned out around her head, meaning that she was placed in this position carefully. The chances of her skull being hurt as a result of her transport were minimal, but Harry checked her out anyways. Concussions he could deal with, but if she had cracked her skull there was no way for him to transport her without using magic.

She suffered no cranial fractures, thankfully, and appeared to be breathing normally. Her pulse was strong. Her arms and legs were unbroken. Her ankles were not sprained. Good, he could exfiltrate her from this dungeon painlessly.

He was checking her neck when something flitted across his consciousness. There was something incredibly familiar about the redheaded Gryffindor in front of him. Seeing her like this brought a strong sense of nostalgia, even déjà vu. Like this was a replay of some past event, rather than somewhere in the present.

Harry blinked, and during that split second of darkness when his eyes were closed he saw a picture of something different. It was Ginny, still in her Hogwarts robes, still unconscious, but different. Younger.

His eyes opened, and it was gone.

_What was that?_ Harry asked himself, but quickly shook it off. There was no time for thoughts, he had a hostage to rescue. His lack of sleep was getting to him already, this wasn't good. He had to get Ginny back before his senses deteriorated any further, or it could jeopardize the mission. His movements were already getting sloppy. Damn.

As he planned their escape route, he mechanically took out his wand and pointed it at Ginny. He was quite surprised, then, to find his mouth opening and saying, "Enervate."

The second the magical signature left his wandtip, Harry felt anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards slam into place around them. He had forgotten about not using magic. The wards were unbelievably strong! He cursed himself for his mental lapse, he should have been prepared for magical detection! Gripping his wand and entirely alert now, he assessed the situation.

It seemed like a coin toss, ready to fall either way at the slightest inclination. Coin tosses were almost as bad as SIRIs. Situation: Impossible, Retreat Immediately. Gritting his teeth, he cleared his head as best he could. Things were about to get really ugly.

Ginny, groggily waking from three stunners over the past fifteen minutes, suddenly shot up with a gasp. She was looking straight ahead, rather than at Harry. "Don't touch me, you-!!" Harry clamped a hand over her mouth as she stared off into space, her mind not entirely caught up with the situation. It took a bit of time for victims to realize that their captors were incapable of consciousness. Ginny looked around silently, confused, before her eyes finally came to rest on the black-haired 6th year.

There were several seconds of quiet, then Ginny's eyes filled with tears. She latched onto the Boy who Lived tightly, sobbing, "Harry! Oh thank God you came, I was outside the common room and I heard someone behind me, then everything went dark and I was so scared!" She babbled for a few moments, but quickly degraded into incoherent sobs. Harry sat rigidly, it was a very awkward situation to find himself in. He had no idea what he was supposed to do with this crying girl who was hugging him rather tightly, so he did what he was trained to do: move.

He had no time for more research concerning his secondary objectives, time was critical in rescue situations. There was no way he could evacuate all three of them without being seen, he had to leave the boys. That was fine, he'd get mind rips from them and they'd serve just about the same purpose. He tapped the unconscious boy in the corner's head, drawing several thick silver strands out. Two small glass vials were pulled from his pocket, and he emptied the strands into one of them. He filled the other vial out in the dungeon, then came back in to find a very confused Ginny looking up at him. She was still on the floor, right where he left her.

"I'm here to rescue you, Ginny, and we haven't got time for this. Stay two feet behind me and don't make a sound, I'll get you out of here." He holstered his wand, pulled her into a standing position and made his way over to the far door on the other side of the room.

Extending his senses, he couldn't detect any sound or footsteps or magical auras from the other side of the door. Cautiously, he pushed the door open and peered out into the hallway. He had no idea what was going to happen, but he had been trained for nearly every possible scenario.

There was a metallic click from his left, Harry's head swiveled to see a man clad entirely in black with a muggle assault rifle shouldered in his direction. Adrenaline spiked through his system, he ducked and slapped the wall with his left hand, pulling out a thick sheet of stone that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. Ginny winced, preparing for the magical backlash, but none came. She didn't have any time to think on that oddity, as three staccato barks came from her left. She screamed as a wall of stone erupted from the corridor, blocking her view.

The wall stopped two of the projectiles, but wasn't quick enough. One of the projectiles hit Harry in the left shoulder. He was turned sideways from the impact, which shattered his collarbone and rotator cuff. Pain exploded inside his head, edging at the corners of his vision. The wall began to lose its form, so with a grunt of pain Harry pulled his hand out of the stone. It froze instantaneously.

Without making another sound, Harry patted his now-useless arm. It stuck firmly to his abdomen, minimizing its motion as he pushed Ginny down the hall in front of him to shield her from further bullets. Then he whipped the revolver out of his belt and spun on his heel, taking aim and firing a single shot around the hastily constructed stone barrier. He violently repressed the pain signals his body was sending him as he heard a gurgling cry of pain from the man. Direct hit. A muggle with an assault rifle, that's why he couldn't detect his magical aura! Who was the owner of this place, and why did he have such guards?

Questions were for after-action reports. "Move!" He shouted to Ginny, spurring her on as he cut in front of her again. "Stop!" There were footsteps coming from around the corner, and there was nowhere for him to run. He couldn't fight with one arm and 5 bullets, and he couldn't concentrate enough to transmute a pebble at the moment. The pain in his shoulder was increasing steadily, eroding his concentration immensely.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at the ceiling. A purple beam erupted from the tip and exploded violently against the stone, creating a hole 4 feet wide.

Gathering Ginny up, he slung her over his good shoulder amid protesting cries. "Shh." He silenced her with a word, then crouched. He forced his magic to concentrate in his legs, and a second later he leapt upwards. Ginny screamed.

They soared through the hole in the ceiling, nearly fifteen feet straight up before Harry started to fall again. He bent his legs and absorbed the impact, then set Ginny down and pulled the black toothpick out of his pocket. Shouts were heard from the level below them, from under the hole they had just jumped up out of. "He went up, let's get him!"

Harry pointed his wand at the hole and another purple jet shot out, this one much larger. Several agonized screams erupted from somewhere below them as an explosion of stone sent razor-sharp rock flying in every direction, cutting anyone in line of sight severely. Without skipping a beat, Harry flicked his wand and sent a good twenty feet of floor in each direction crashing downwards, crushing anyone unlucky enough to be situated under it. They were now standing on a three foot wide section of stone suspended by the walls alone above a ten foot drop into a pile of rubble. Ginny's heart sank. How would they get out now?

The small black toothpick expanded into a full-size broom instantly, "Get on." Harry commanded. Ginny found herself obeying before she could even think about it. He mounted the broom behind her and wrapped his good arm around her waist, pulling her close to him. "Hold on tight."

And the next moment they were speeding through the corridor at breakneck speeds, eliciting a cry of surprise from a pair of muggles with assault rifles. Harry's foot flashed out, impacting one muggle's head spectacularly with a very unpleasant-sounding crunch. They made it safely past the second guard, but the Boy who Lived pulled out his revolver and fired a shot backwards, hitting the other guard right below the throat. He couldn't take chances with those assault rifles.

The exit was straight ahead, and they sped out into the gloriously bright sunshine. The wind whipped Ginny's hair out, obstructing Harry's view of the land. Leaning forward, he kicked the broom into high gear and tore off towards the horizon.

* * *

Several miles later, they were passing over a thick forested area. Ginny had just about gotten used to the amount of wind whipping her face when they plummeted earthward without so much as a word from Harry. She shrieked.

They landed quickly in a clearing 40 feet wide. Harry dismounted and dropped the broom, then looked at the redhead seriously. "Take off your clothes." He ordered Ginny.

Her robes were halfway undone before she thought about how absurd the order was. She clutched at her Hogwarts outfit protectively, backing away from the Boy who Lived as he bent down to pick up a medium-sized rock. Her heart caught in her throat. She didn't know that Harry was this type of guy! "I'm glad you saved me and all, but I'm not ready to do this..." She said it as kindly as possible, all the while getting ready to kick him in the crotch as soon as he stepped within range.

Harry lobbed the rock towards Ginny with his good hand, then whipped out his wand and pointed it at the projectile. Ginny screamed and held up her hands protectively, squeezing her eyes shut as something hit her. Something ... light and soft? Her eyes shot open to look at the foreign object that Harry had tossed at her.

A neatly folded set of clothes much like Harry had on. She blinked. What the hell was going on here?!

"There is a good possibility that the enemy put a tracking charm on your clothes. We cannot afford to be intercepted on our way back to Hogwarts. Remove everything you are currently wearing and put these on instead. Shoes are coming." Harry said in his signature monotone.

Relief flooded through her. So Harry wasn't trying to take advantage of the situation! She nearly chuckled at her naivety. _Of course he wouldn't do that, he's a soldier!_ She mentally berated herself for thinking so little of the Boy who Lived as she shrugged off her Hogwarts robes.

A pair of comfortable-looking shoes appeared in Harry's hand, and they changed shape continuously as he stared intently at her feet. When they seemed close enough, he transfigured a pair of wool socks and tossed the package at Ginny's feet. Her white blouse was undone, and she looked at him pointedly as he continued to stare at her.

His face was all business, just like it always was, but she was a girl! Didn't he know that you weren't supposed to stare like that, especially if someone's getting undressed?

"Would you please turn around already, Harry?" She said through gritted teeth. Did he need everything spelled out for him? There was no possible way that someone out there was so dense.

Harry nodded and spun around smartly. "I tried to make the clothes to fit, but I have only made men's clothes before. Your proportions were substantially more difficult."

He said it so simply, as if he hadn't just been staring at her body. Like he wasn't interested at all. Ginny didn't know whether to feel relieved that Harry wasn't a pervert or insulted by his lack of interest! The boy was so infuriating sometimes, and he didn't even know it, which made it all the worse...

She practically tore the rest of her clothes off in her frustration, including her shoes and stockings. The wind was rather calm in the clearing but it wasn't just the cold she was dreading. Harry Potter was no more than ten feet away from her, she was supposed to get completely naked and just TRUST that he wouldn't sneak a peek? Her thumbs rested on the elastic band of her panties uncertainly. Her face got successively darker, until it was beet red. She inhaled, trying to calm down. Any way you looked at this, it was incredibly awkward.

Oh what the hell, she'd kill him later if he peeked anyway. She stepped out of her undergarments and reached for the combat uniform he had transfigured for her. It was surprisingly soft, much softer than his own uniform in any case. She unfolded the pants and a pair of plain black boxers fell out. He really had no clue about women, did he?

Repressing a giggle, she put on the clothes and buttoned them up. He hadn't included a bra, but she was young and small enough that it didn't really matter. The clothes were baggy everywhere, but it wasn't a bad job considering the starting material and the fact that it was airborne when he did it. He didn't even know how impressive something like that was, and using only one arm to do everything. Was this some form of training? Why was his other arm stuck to his side like that?

Well, she'd never understand his peculiar behavior, what made this any different? "Alright, I'm done." Harry turned around and stepped forward as he looked her over with a critical eye. Her cheeks flushed again. He ran a finger over the seam of the transfigured utilities and they tightened up properly until they were no longer falling off of her. They felt custom tailored! She slipped on the socks and trainers, and then nodded. "What now?" She asked him, making a mental note to have him fix a few of her clothes back at Hogwarts that were a little off. He sure was a useful bloke to have around...

"Now you get back on the broom and we get you back to Hogwarts." He pulled out the invisibility cloak and heard her gasp.

"That's an invisibility cloak!" She said, astonished. Books had touched on the rarity of that gossamer fabric, but words couldn't do justice to how impossibly expensive they really were. Harry Potter had one? Who was she kidding, he probably had two in case one stopped working. Life just wasn't fair.

"Affirmative. Now get on." He motioned, and the broom jumped into his hand. He held it out for Ginny, who mounted it quickly. Once again, he sat directly behind her. He was close enough to feel his heart pulsing steadily in his ribcage. It felt more than a little odd to have the entire length of his body pressed up against her.

"Is that really necessary, Harry?" She asked as he scooted in even further.

"Affirmative. In the case of hostile interference, standard operating procedure confirms the life of the hostage more valuable than the life of the soldier. Full contact is the best way to protect you from injury or death. If I am hit, keep flying straight ahead until you reach Hogwarts. Do not land under any circumstances. If I fall off the broom, do not attempt to save me or rescue me. The invisibility cloak should catch my body. No matter what happens, fly straight ahead and don't stop until you get to Hogwarts. I will protect you." The cloak went over them both, covering the broom in its entirety. Harry tied it together under behind their legs and hovered off the ground, rotating the fabric so the knot was above his head. They were completely invisible from the ground, now.

So if someone shot something at them, he was supposed to take the hit? He said it so calmly, as if it were his lunch break rather than his life on the line. She had no idea how he managed.

He leaned forward and they shot off into the sky once more, gaining altitude until they were at least a thousand feet above the ground. She had never been this high on a broom before, and strangely enough, it didn't frighten her at all; she had the Boy who Lived leading her on this guided tour.

It was beautiful from way up here, but Merlin, it was cold! Ginny shivered involuntarily, then felt a tap on her back and soothing warmth spreading through her uniform. Harry must have put a type of warming charm on her clothes. Sometimes he was so considerate... She bit back a smile at his thoughtful gesture, enjoying the view as they rocketed through the air. There was no wind inside the invisibility cloak, although the force of it should be tearing apart the thin material by now. Odd. Just one more thing she felt she'd never understand.

They flew for what felt like several hours; she watched a stellar sunset and shot glances back over her shoulder at Harry every once in a while. He looked exactly the same as he always did; eyes focused intently on some goal far out of sight, rigid posture and arm clamped firmly around her petite waist. Any other guy doing that would have sent creepy shivers up her spine, but Harry was different. He did things because they needed to be done, not because he enjoyed them. She partially respected that, but mostly it seemed sad. Ginny couldn't help but wonder if he ever did anything just for the fun of it.

* * *

They changed directions slightly, but soon caught sight of the familiar outline of Hogwarts. Harry took them straight down towards the gates, where a group of unknown wizards and witches and Albus Dumbledore were waiting. He untied the cloak and pocketed it as he descended, the people on the ground saw him and motioned him down. He landed and dismounted rigidly, picking Ginny up and setting her on the ground gently. The broom shrunk once more, and he tucked it into his pocket. There were at least two dozen Aurors lined up behind the Headmaster. Harry approached Albus and saluted rigidly, then stood at attention. His left arm was still stuck to his side, but his right arm was pointed straight down.

"Report." Albus intoned, his eyes briefly glancing at Harry's left arm.

"Sir, Ginny Weasley is safely in custody. All other involved personnel were left behind for security reasons. I have procured mind rips from both involved parties for perusal at your leisure." He took the two small vials out of his pocket and handed them over to Dumbledore, who nodded.

"The location of the manor has been confirmed, a tuned portkey can be made for Kingsley Shacklebolt as soon as my concentration has stabilized adequately." His voice betrayed nothing.

Albus's eyes flashed, concerned. "Explain."

Harry continued, "During the course of the mission, I was hit by a physical projectile in the left shoulder. I believe it shattered my collarbone and rotator cuff. Blood loss was negligible due to the small caliber of the round; possibly 5.56mm NATO ammunition. I estimate a 16-hour recovery time with supplemental potions. This amount of time is not feasible considering the mission, so the location of the holding site can instead be projected to your mind upon request. I was able to secure information concerning my secondary objectives."

Most of the Aurors were watching Harry intently, clearly surprised that the boy was this disciplined.

"One of the boys, under duress, stated that Bellatrix Lestrange both ordered the mission and facilitated it. She has a mansion in Essex, unplottable but hooked up to the floo network. The password for the floo is in a potions book inside Hogwart's library entitled 'Fortuna Juvat'. I strongly suggest immediate action at that location, with a force of no less than twenty Aurors. Given my sleep-deprived state and current injuries, I am operating at less than half of optimal efficiency at the moment. I would recommend against deploying me again for at least 24 hours."

Dumbledore nodded. "Noted. Project the location of the holding site, then deliver Miss Weasley and yourself to the Hospital Wing immediately for processing. I will contact you for your after-action report." Harry reached up and touched Albus's temple, then saluted again. He turned to the side and guided Ginny toward the main gates with his good hand, she put up no resistance.

"And Harry?" Dumbledore called out after him yet again. Harry stopped and turned.

"Yes Headmaster?" he answered formally.

Albus looked at the boy with shining blue eyes, a small smile on his face. "Thank you."

Harry nodded, "Just doing my job, sir." He turned and continued to the gates.

Ginny felt guilt creeping into her. He'd been shot with a muggle weapon? She couldn't see him bleeding, she couldn't even see the hole because of how dark his uniform was. He looked like he always did, although he was perspiring slightly. Harry had been shot, he was bleeding, and it was all her fault. If she'd have just paid more attention to her surroundings, none of this would have happened. She felt so weak...

Tears came unbidden to her eyes; her hands started to shake as they walked through the double doors of Hogwarts. The shock of the situation had begun to wear off and the adrenaline spikes had tapered down. It left her rattled, her nerves were frayed and her body was collapsing from the strain. Her muscles were shutting down. She started up the first flight of stairs and her leg buckled under her.

Before she could even cry out in surprise, Harry's good hand snaked around her waist and stopped her. She pulled herself weakly back to an upright position. "It's alright, Ginny. Just breathe, you have been through a lot today." The words were comforting, but there was no emotion behind them. It was like a script he read to ease her mind. She swung her arm around his shoulders, leaning heavily on him for support. Harry took hold of his ruined arm and pulled it away from his abdomen. Ginny winced as his bones grated together. He didn't even flinch. He twisted his arm until it was bent at the elbow to 90 degrees.

"Petrificus." He said quietly, freezing the broken arm in place rigidly. Without warning, the Boy who Lived picked Ginny up and swung her legs over his ruined arm. Surprisingly enough, the arm held. She'd never heard of using a petrificus charm like this, but based on the sound alone it was incredibly painful.

She gingerly put her arms around his neck, holding onto him tightly. After a cursory glance, he started up the stairs again. Ginny cried openly, tears of frustration carving paths down her cheeks. She was useless. He'd been shot, she hadn't gotten so much as a scratch out of the whole thing and somehow she was the one that needed to be carried to the Hospital Wing.

"I'm sorry, Harry... I'm so sorry..." She whispered through her tears. She was on the verge of sobbing uncontrollably from the self-pity she was experiencing. How did he do it? She buried her head in his chest, leaking warm tears onto his combat uniform as they made the trek to the Hospital Wing.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey had been informed, so there were two fresh beds waiting for them and a whole slew of potions on a tray. She was all business. "Over here, Mr. Potter. Put Miss Weasley on the bed and take off your uniform."

Harry did as instructed, stepping out of his boots, pants and jacket. He heard Pomfrey gasp as he unfroze his arm and slipped his jacket off. The damage didn't look that impressive, he'd definitely had worse days.

Ginny couldn't help but stare as the Boy who Lived diligently removed his shirt with one arm. His muscled chest was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, causing the filtered sunlight to reflect off the hard angles of his abdomen. In the soft light, she could make out numerous pink scars on his body. Some fine and thin, one particularly jagged one that started just below his navel and extended clear around the side of his waist. The way the scar went, it looked like he'd almost been cut in half!

Ginny bit her lip to keep from saying something stupid. How did he get all these scars, and why? A familiar lump of pity welled up in her throat as she wondered, not for the last time, just how much Harry Potter had seen of Hell. His pants went next, and she idly wondered what his definition of 'uniform' was. All he had left were his boxers, and those really didn't need to be removed, did they? Surely, he wasn't going to...

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as he hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his boxers; she tore her eyes off of him and turned around before he could remove them in front of her. She heard the telltale sound of fabric sliding against skin as he stepped out of the last piece of his uniform. She didn't understand how he could be so uncaring about being stark naked in front of two women, her especially!

"Good heavens, child, what happened?" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, ushering him towards the bed and into a hospital gown, helping him to lie down gently. From what Ginny heard, the medi-witch didn't seem phased by the black-haired boy's sudden nudity, nor did she hesitate in her duties. Ginny admired her professionalism. If it were her doing the healing, she probably would have just stood there, staring at him like a particularly lean cut of meat.

"I've been shot." Harry said in a monotone, diagnosing himself. "I believe the projectile shattered my collarbone and rotator cuff. I will require a vial of skele-gro and a small flask of muscle regenerator, if you have any in stock. Please attend to Ginny, I can administer the potions myself."

Madam Pomfrey looked at Harry with suspicious eyes. "Alright, but if you leave even a drop left in that vial I'll force-feed you another one. I'll find you a muscle regenerator, I'm sure I've got one somewhere..." She muttered as she gathered his discarded Combat Uniform and dumped it in a bin at the foot of his bed.

After handing him two glass containers filled with noxious-looking potions, she turned her attentions to Ginny. "Well dear, I'm sure it's been a long day for you." She smiled down at the youngest Weasley as she performed a basic checkup.

She had no idea.

* * *

Her dreams were unsettling. Scenes from the day kept flashing through her head, most of them violent. Harry was a completely different person out there when he had killed those men. She had no idea if the boys that kidnapped her were still alive. Anything they got was certainly deserved, but they were her classmates; she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. The dreams grew more troubled, until she woke and sat up with a start.

It was dark in the Hospital Wing, save the beams of moonlight that filtered in through the windows. She turned to her right and looked at Harry's bed.

He was there, propped up rigidly against his pillow and staring off at a point in space. He wasn't moving, but he was definitely awake. "You should be sleeping." He informed her, not looking away from his focusing point.

"So should you." Ginny retorted groggily. What time was it?

"I find it impossible to sleep when regrowing bones. It is quite painful." He said it so plainly, so evenly that Ginny almost doubted that he was telling the truth. Talking just as he always did, did he really expect her to believe what he said? That, and why did he sound so familiar with regrowing bones? "Are you feeling alright, Ginny?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just had a bad dream." She answered truthfully. "Some evil men kidnapped me."

Harry nodded, still staring off at some invisible point in space. "Well, I'll rescue you from those men too. Please get some sleep."

Just then, she caught a slight motion from his shoulder. It twitched, then ... shifted. Something under his skin was moving, and she instantly knew it was bone. His bones were moving inside of him, finding their rightful places. Ginny had broken her arm once, but it was only set and healed with a one-hour potion. It didn't really hurt at all, except that one moment when the doctor set her bone again. That had been an excruciating experience. If she was struck by lightning, it must have felt something like that. White hot pain lanced through her arm, traveling all the way down to her toes. It was over in an instant, but still ranked among the worst that she'd ever felt. She shuddered to think that Harry was being continually subjected to that feeling.

Guilt weighed heavily on her as she pulled the covers over her head. Anything to hide her face from the Boy who Lived. She couldn't watch him anymore. She could hear his even breathing, every so often his arm would twitch and rustle against the crisp linen sheets, but he never once cried out in pain. He was incredible.

It was more than an hour before she fell back to sleep, but this time her dreams were filled with images of Harry smiling down at her.


	5. Visions and Visits

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter V: Visions and Visits

Harry surveyed his surroundings. He was in the Headmaster's office, but as he looked down at his hands he seemed... younger. What was this?

Dumbledore looked pensive, his hands were clasped together. His eyes were measuring the Boy who Lived, as if trying to determine if he was up for this mission. With a resigned sigh, he made up his mind. "Harry, I've sent for you because we have a very large problem on our hands. A student, one Ginevra Weasley, has been abducted and taken to an unknown location in the castle known as 'The Chamber of Secrets'." He passed Harry a recent photograph of the hostage. "I'd give you the back history on it, but frankly there is no time. We have reason to believe that someone intentionally reopened the chamber and set a basilisk loose inside of Hogwarts. I assume you are familiar with basilisks."

"Yes, Sir. Green serpent capable of reaching over 50 feet in length. Meeting the gaze of a basilisk is instant death, its fangs are incredibly poisonous as well. They are considered the second most dangerous creatures in the world." He rattled off in a monotone, then stood at attention and awaited his orders. His mind was silent and still, disciplined heavily against erroneous thoughts and imaginations. His voice was noticeably higher-pitched. Was this a dream? Did this already happen?

"Good. All the students have been sent to their respective dormitories, I order you to utilize any and all means necessary to procure the location of the Chamber of Secrets. Gain access to the chamber, mark it with a targeting spell and search the area for the hostage. Your main priority is the safety of the hostage. Find her, bring her to my office immediately. If you should have contact with the basilisk, you are hereby authorized to use any and all means necessary to terminate it, short of endangering the hostage. If you feel this is above your abilities, please speak now."

Harry was silent, staring off into space and committing his mission to memory. In a battle, you couldn't afford to read your orders. Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Very well, Mr. Potter. You may take your leave."

The green-eyed boy saluted smartly, spun on his heel and marched out of the office. Once he was down the stairs, he took out his wand and said, "Accio spider." After a few moments, a small brown arachnid came flying at him. He caught it and placed it on the ground. The brown spider scurried away to the right hurriedly, Harry summoned him again and ran to the left. He was bitten several times on the palm, but the spider was not poisonous. Every 50 feet, he would drop the spider and see which way it ran. Spiders were terrified of basilisks, they would run away when they sensed one. This spider was no exception.

Soon it brought him to a dank restroom that looked as if it hadn't been used in years. He dropped the spider from the center of the room, and it ran directly away from the wash basins. "Reducto." He said, slashing his wand towards the object.

It exploded in a shower of marble dust, leaving a tunnel that led straight down. Harry marked the area with a targeting spell as per his objectives, placed a sticking charm on the soles of his boots and inhaled deeply. It might be the last breath of fresh air he was going to get for a while; he needed every last ounce of oxygen he could get. Stepping forward into nothingness, he rotated downwards until his foot made contact with the wall of the pipe. He pulled his foot off of the bathroom floor and walked vertically down the tunnel. It was a noticeable strain on his abdomen, but he could hold this position silently for at least half an hour, if necessary. The hole soon emptied into a large room which was quite dark, so he used a lighting charm on a stone in the wall. He couldn't afford to be broadcasting his exact position, even though basilisks had poor eyesight. It was their extraordinary sense of smell he was worried about.

He loosened his jacket, unbuttoning it all the way and slipping both of his sleeves out. Tying the black jacket around his waist with a half-knot, Harry made his way down a dark passageway. He came across a very large shedding, at least 20 feet long, which meant that it was bigger now. Still, he had a mission to do. Nothing came before that, least of all his firmly repressed doubts. He WAS competent, he WAS trained for this, and he was most certainly going to do his job. Gritting his teeth, he walked onward.

The passageway opened up into a large, dimly lit chamber. It was enormous, stretching at least two hundred yards. There were stone pillars on each side of him, supporting a ceiling so high that it was lost in darkness. A huge statue stood at the far end, it was a wizard with a tremendously long beard that ended just above his ankles.

And right in front of the stone statue was a black-robed figure laying face up on the floor, red hair fanned out around her head. Ginny. He rushed over to her and ran a preliminary check of her vitals. She had a very weak pulse, her breathing was shallow. She was pale, cold and unconscious, but she was still alive. Barely. She would require medical attention, and soon.

"She won't wake up." A voice from behind Harry startled him. He whirled around, spinning on the balls of his feet and coming up with his wand pointed at the unknown person. The boy was leaned against a pillar, regarding him quietly. He was wearing Hogwarts robes, and did not have a wand out. His body was strangely blurry around the edges.

Harry wasn't exactly confused, but his orders were unclear on this point. His mission was for one hostage, Ginny Weasley. Who was this boy, and why was he down here? More importantly, what did his superiors expect him to do with this extra baggage? He hadn't asked, so it couldn't be helped. He'd have to rescue him as well. "It is in your best interests to evacuate the area. It has been confirmed that a basilisk resides in the immediate vicinity; your life is in grave danger. If you follow the lighted stones in the wall, it will take you to a vertical pipe. Wait for me there, and I will take you up to the surface." He finished his instructions and waited for the non-combatant to comply.

The boy pushed himself off of the pillar and walked towards Harry. Did he not understand? He repeated himself, making sure to enunciate clearly this time. "I have instructed you to evacuate. You should leave the area immediately. There is a basilisk in the immediate vicinity and you are in mortal peril."

Approaching Harry, the black-haired boy laughed down at the Boy who Lived. "Of course there is! I set him loose! Why else do you think I'd be down here in this dank chamber, if not because I mean to be? Speaking of which, my pet should be coming back very soon. Ginny will die, and I will be made whole once more. All thanks to my diary." Harry's head turned, spotting the small black book next to Ginny's prone form.

"Explain yourself." Harry said in a monotone. He had no patience for riddles, especially during a time-critical mission.

"Isn't it obvious, Potter? I've been trapped in that damned diary for fifty years, under lock and key if you will, and now through the young Miss Weasley I finally have the means to leave its pages and enter the world once more. I am met with an interesting predicament, however. You see, I was under the assumption that Lord Voldemort would have killed you by now. However, you appear healthy and whole which leads me to believe that either you have been incredibly lucky thus far, or incredibly well-protected. You managed to survive a killing curse, thought impossible at the time, cast by the greatest wizard who ever lived. Me."

Harry was not a fool. This boy's use of 'Lord Voldemort', instead of he-who-must-not-be-named or some other euphemism indicated that he was either a direct follower of Riddle or looking to become one. He had been trapped inside a diary, the only thing that could do that was a Horcrux. Incredibly dark magic, some of the darkest ever used by wizardkind. Ginny was being used to bring this boy back into existence, which meant that he was killing her. The greatest wizard who ever lived was a title Voldemort had given himself, as flawed a statement as it was. This boy was not a hostage. He was the enemy.

Reaching down, Harry grabbed a handful of granite and pulled. A simple broadsword came up from the ground. The enemy boy clapped. "Transmutation! I haven't seen a wizard as capable as you since... well, me. Of course, it was never my field of expertise. I was much more interes-" his sentence was cut off by Harry, who had plunged the tip of the broadsword rather violently into his neck.

The Boy who Lived pushed on the blade, sinking it up to the hilt in the throat of the tall boy. Stepping back quickly, Harry said, "Incendio." The blade burst into flames hot enough to burn away flesh.

The tall boy just laughed, pulling the sword out of his throat with his bare hands. He discarded the flaming weapon, suffering no burns or damage from the fire at all. There was no wound on his neck at all. Harry nearly dropped his wand in surprise, his mind racing. If he was invincible, that meant he was still...

Retreating hastily, Harry backed up until he was beside Ginny, then fell on his backside. The tall boy laughed down at him. "Really now, Potter, I expected you to stand and meet your demise like a ... what are you doing?"

Harry groped around, finally grasping the small black book next to Ginny. He only knew one spell that would defeat a horcrux, and it required quite a bit of energy. Gripping the book with both hands, he said, "Pallida mors edax."

"NO!!" Shouted the tall boy, reaching out to stop him. But it was too late. The book exploded in shreds, creating a near-blinding light that forced Harry to squeeze his eyes shut. The heat was intense, searing his hands badly as he held onto the book, willing it to be destroyed. It was a whirlwind of agony, swirling inside of him out of control...

Then just like that, it was over.

When Harry opened his eyes, the tall boy was gone. The book was scattered over a ten-foot radius, pieces of parchment were everywhere. The chamber was completely silent, save the sound of Harry's heartbeat thrumming in his temples. He had not been expecting that.

A rumbling behind him was his only warning. He scampered for his wand, snatching it up and rolling to come up facing a possible threat. A hole had opened in the statue, at least 7 feet in diameter...

Oh no. This was not looking good. As fast as he could, Harry grabbed his wand and cast half a dozen conjunctivitis spells into the hole. A strange hissing sound was heard, but none of the curses appeared to hit. The Boy who Lived screwed his eyes shut, removed his jacket from his waist and spread it over Ginny, casting a charm to shield her scent from the snake.

The snake hissed in a low rumble, but Harry could understand what it was saying. He was, after all, a parselmouth. His instructors told him that he gained the ability from Voldemort himself when he got his lightning bolt scar. "Heretic! You have slain the Heir of Slytherin!!" The coarse rub of scales on granite was fast approaching; no doubt the basilisk had revenge in mind.

The spell to destroy the Horcrux took a lot out of a wizard, but he couldn't afford to be tired right now. Were his eyes open, he had no doubt he would be looking death in the face. He forced his body to move. He needed time. "Wait!" Harry cried out in parseltongue. "Mighty Serpent, do not kill me!"

Partially out of shock, the basilisk stopped advancing, "You speak the serpent tongue, human, but you have committed an unforgivable sin! Why should I not eat you where you stand?!" The sheer volume of the enraged hissing shook Harry's bones. The king of snakes was only 25 to 30 feet away from them. The sound appeared to come from all directions, he couldn't tell which way the snake was.

He knelt down, feeling for Ginny. Once he found her, he straddled her and put both of his hands on the granite on either side of her head. The safe zone for this technique was incredibly small; he couldn't allow the hostage to be harmed. He summoned every scrap of magical power left in his systems, tapping even his vast reserves dry. The amount of energy he was about to release had a good probability of killing him from the strain, but he couldn't afford to care at the moment: the mission had to come first. Ginny's safety had to come first. Steeling himself, he answered, "Because, serpent, I am the instrument of your destruction!" The basilisk hissed in rage, shaking the stone pillars around them. With a shout, Harry pushed every last ounce of usable magic into the stone below his hands.

A circular granite shockwave shot out from beneath them, sending ripples through the heavy and hardened rock. Once the fast-moving wave was five feet out in every direction, it bloomed. Razor-pointed granite spikes exploded silently from the ground, unfurling like a lotus as the shockwave traveled further out. The deadly corona of spikes shot thirty feet into the air, rolling in deadly arcs like a huge meat grinder. A terrible screech of pain was heard; it resonated off of the walls and assaulted Harry's senses. Then it was cut off abruptly, and the shockwave continued until it reached the edges of the chamber. The entire chamber was blanketed in spikes so numerous that they appeared to be grey blades of grass.

The only area unaffected by the deadly blooming spikes was the five foot radius around Harry.

Silence reigned over the chamber as the Boy who Lived opened his eyes tiredly. He was drained, utterly and completely. He couldn't have cast a simple lumos charm, his magical reserves were so far gone. Pulling his jacket off of the prone form under him and staring down at the hostage, he checked her pulse again. Drips of sweat rolled down his face, pooling on his chin and dripping onto her black robes. She was still alive. Good.

Maybe it was the severity of the situation, or the fact that his recent magical discharge hadn't killed him, but he found himself captivated by the sleeping girl underneath him. The way freckles dotted her nose and cheeks daintily, the way her cheeks were flushing with the return of blood to her face. She was going to make it. Relief flooded him, causing him to slump a little.

He was more tired than he could ever remember being, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. She looked positively angelic in the dull light of the Chamber of Secrets. His face moved closer to hers mechanically, subconsciously. So slowly that his eyes didn't even register the change in distance. It was understandably surprising to Harry, then, when his lips touched hers. Just a petal soft brush, really, but Harry bolted upright as if struck by a stinging hex. Why had he just done that? Confusion washed over him, but he shook his head. His mission wasn't completed.

Looking up, Harry saw the basilisk and immediately wished he hadn't. It had been chopped into at least several dozen pieces, none larger than Harry. Dark red blood was spreading over a good portion of what was left of the floor. The smell was incredibly rank and guaranteed to get worse as the mutilated flesh drifted ever closer to them, adrift in a shallow sea of pitch-black blood.

He pulled Ginny up into a sitting position, sitting between her legs and tying his jacket around both of them. His strength was failing fast, trying to regenerate his magical reserves physically. He needed to move, and he needed to do it now. Leaning forward, he forced himself into a kneeling position, then one leg after another he stood shakily.

After tightening the jacket around them both, he draped Ginny's arms over his shoulders and hooked his own arms under her legs. It hurt, every muscle in his body screamed against doing this, but his mission came first. One step at a time, using the granite spikes for support, he made his way carefully through the makeshift maze of stone towards the exit.

He hoped his sticking charm hadn't worn off yet.

* * *

Nearly twenty minutes later, Albus was having a firechat with three different people, not the least of which was Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. He happened to be the father of Ginevra Weasley, and was rather frantic about Albus' search for his daughter. "Mr. Weasley, I assure you we are doing all that we can for your daughter. We have a most qualified individual on it as we speak. In fact..."

As he said that, two loud impacts with the double doors of Dumbledore's office were heard. They didn't sound like a rap, a tap or a knock. Rather, they sounded like someone banging their head against his door.

"I apologize for cutting our meeting short. Gentlemen, you will have to excuse me. Arthur, you may stay if you promise not to make a sound." Albus stood and said in a clear voice, "Come in, Harry."

Two disgruntled heads disappeared from the fire, leaving a very worried Arthur Weasley craning his neck to get a good view of the doors. They opened to reveal a boy who couldn't be older than 14; he had someone tied to his back with a jacket... Ginny! Arthur bit his lip to keep from crying out to her. The boy had messy black hair, green eyes that were drooping dangerously, and a stagger in his walk that said his body couldn't afford to take another step. Yet somehow, he managed to take several more steps and stand somewhat rigidly at attention. It didn't stop him from swaying in place, though. "Mission successful, Sir. Ginevra Weasley is safely in custody, the basilisk has been terminated. Awaiting further orders." He sounded breathless, weak. As if his willpower alone was fueling his voice and his legs.

Albus nodded. "Escort her to the hospital wing, Mr. Potter, and check yourself in. I'll contact you for your after-action report at a later date. You have done an incredible job today."

Harry shook his head tiredly, eyelids drooping further. "Just doing my job, Sir." With a curt nod, as both of his hands were tied up supporting Ginny's weight, he turned and made his way painfully down the stairs towards the hospital wing, trying not to wince with every step. A soldier shows no pain, no weakness. Albus turned back to the fire to inform the necessary parties that the crisis was over.

Left. Right. Left. Right. He recited the words over and over, focusing only on the ground directly in front of him. Where was the hospital wing? His memory was becoming very indistinct. He'd never been to Hogwarts before. Why wasn't anybody in the halls, wasn't this a school? Schools were supposed to be filled with students. Left. Right. Ginny wasn't very heavy, but she seemed to weigh more with every step. He didn't know how much longer he could carry her before he collapsed. It was all he could do to take the next step. Left. Right. Oh look, directions.

Following the arrows, it only took five minutes to reach the hospital wing. Harry pushed the slightly ajar door fully open with his head, afraid that if he moved his arms Ginny would fall onto the granite floor. He made his way over to an empty bed in front of him and sat Miss Weasley down on it. Slowly, he untied his jacket and lowered her gently onto the white sheets.

She looked so peaceful, as if her life hadn't been minutes or hours from expiring just a short while ago. A plump woman shrieked and ran over to them, fussing mightily about the condition of the girl on the bed.

Good. She looked like a qualified medi-witch. Mission complete. The sense of fulfillment he only got from those two words flooded him. He blinked, and the moment his eyes closed all the way he lost his balance. The ground was reaching up to meet him, he was going to hit but his arms wouldn't move to break his fall...

* * *

Harry woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in his hospital bed. _Was that a dream? It seemed too real, like a memory in a pensieve. _He looked down at his hands, which seemed none the worse for wear except for his left arm was in a sling. His bones had stopped moving some time around 4 am, but it couldn't be much later than 6 am at the moment. The sun wasn't up yet, although the hint of light just before dawn was fast approaching. He immediately check the bed to his left, there was no sign of Ginny. Good, she was alright. He exhaled slowly, then inhaled again. Slowing his heartbeat down, he drifted off into sleep again. Hopefully this time he would stay asleep for a while longer.

* * *

The fireplace in the Headmaster's office had not been out for a solid 12 hours. Albus was certainly feeling his age by now. "I've already told you, Ms. Skeeter: you are under contract. If you print Harry Potter's name, or give any reference to the Boy who Lived, we will revoke your journalist license and you will no longer be allowed to print anything... Yes, it's censorship. Of course, it impedes on your rights as a witch and a journalist. Yes yes, I'm sure you'll do just that." He wasn't even paying attention to the lady, who looked positively furious.

"Now listen here, Dumbledore. I'm going to find every last bit of dirt you've got and put them up for the world to see! Every mistake you ever thought of making is going to be printed in full-page articles, and I'm going to laugh as I ruin your life!" Rita fumed, already plotting.

Albus just smiled down at her displaced head. "Well, as long as you keep Harry's name out of your papers, you can write to your heart's content. Have a good day, Ms. Skeeter."

"Wait, Albus, I'm not d-" He closed the connection, sending her head back to its rightful place on her shoulders.

No sooner had he turned around to get the last of his daily paperwork done then the fireplace roared up again. He sighed, speaking as pleasantly as he could manage. "If you call me one more time at this hour, I'll have a restraining order put on you." He spun around in his chair to berate the incredibly nosey journalist, but it was someone else in the fireplace this time.

A handsome man, to be sure, with close-cropped black hair and fathomless grey eyes. "Why Albus, I didn't know you cared." He barked a laugh at the Headmaster's plight, "Been up all night again, eh? Damned reporters. You only need to make an example out of one and the rest of them will get the idea. Hell, I'll volunteer for that assignment."

"Why Sirius, it's been ages. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus said as nonchalantly as he could. Whenever Sirius Black firecalled him, it was always something big. "Harry was injured during the course of his mission, he's in no condition to be fighting just yet."

Sirius shook his head, disagreeing heartily. "No, Albus, he's not in any condition to be fighting just yet. I've heard about his injuries. How did the boy do?" Ah. He was checking up on his Godson's performance.

Albus's eyes twinkled, a smile lit his face. "The boy is positively remarkable. He completed his mission inside of two hours, most of which was flying back afterwards. He had been shot with a muggle projectile weapon, from what Madam Pomfrey has told me it is incredibly painful. He is a strong boy, Sirius. Far too strong. His methods were somewhat barbaric, but I will assume he had a good reason for using such a level of force. Professional, courteous, highly disciplined. Were he a year older, any wizarding force in the world would be ecstatic to have him join their ranks. He did exactly what needed to be done, and he did it with all possible expediency. You should be proud of him, Sirius."

He lowered his voice conspiratorially, "He and Ginny Weasley seem to be getting along famously, as well. He spends each meal with her and her brother Ronald and his girlfriend Hermione. They walk to and from class together, they study together. I think there is hope for that boy yet."

"I am proud, Albus. Perhaps too proud for my own good." Sirius grinned wolfishly. "And I'll have to meet the girl that the untouchable Harry Potter has his eye on. Frankly, I was getting a bit worried about the boy. He has never shown any interest in women before now, not even a scrap. I even intentionally left some dirty magazines strewn about his room; he stacked them neatly and left them on my bed! Didn't even leaf through 'em! No curiosity, no rampant teenage hormones... I was beginning to fear that the Potter line was going to end!" He sighed dramatically, putting a hand up to his forehead.

Dumbledore shook his head at the overgrown child before him. "I'm sure you could have whipped him into shape long enough to produce an heir, Sirius."

"Whipped him into shape?" Sirius snorted, "Albus, I haven't been able to touch that boy since he was 13. Not even when he was asleep. Speaking of which, it's time I arranged a visit. What would you say to ... about 2 hours from now?"

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open, searching the area immediately. He had been awakened by the presence of a familiar magical signature just outside of the Hospital Wing door. Sniffing uncertainly, he smirked.

* * *

Sirius opened the door to the Hospital Wing slowly after putting silencing charms on the hinges. No sense letting a squeak give him away. His wand was drawn, pointed at the only bed in the area that had a curtain drawn around it. He was positive that it was Harry's. He crept silently over the stone floor.

Poking his wand through the white curtain, Sirius split them enough to get a good look at his Godson. The covers were drawn over his face, but a sprout of messy black hair protruded from the linen sheets. His boy was turning restlessly, as if in the throes of a nightmare. He'd give him a nightmare. "Petrificus!" He shouted triumphantly, hitting the boy square in the face. Pouncing towards the bed and throwing back the covers, he revealed a petrified tuft of black hair attached to several pillows. They had been charmed to turn restlessly, which meant no Boy who Lived. That was a bad sign.

Biting back a curse, Sirius kicked backwards viciously, only to have his leg be trapped. He spun his head around to see Harry crouched on the floor, one arm in a sling and his other keeping his Godfather's leg from escaping. Harry shoved upwards abruptly, propelling the older man forward onto the hospital bed. Sirius bounced and rolled off, eager to get out of his Godson's line of sight. He was, as usual, too slow.

"Petrificus." Harry said as Sirius disappeared over the other side of the bed. His Godfather landed with a thump and much cursing. Walking nonchalantly around the white linens, he found the man in a rather compromising position, balanced on his knees and his nose with his arse end sticking straight up. "You should know better than to attack an injured boy." He unfroze the man, then helped him up and repaired his bloody nose.

His Godfather was appropriately contrite. He was getting too old for this... "Damn. Someday I'm going to figure out how you do that..." He brought the boy in for a fierce hug, relishing the contact. Harry wasn't much of a hugger, usually, but being his Godfather had perks like that.

He released Harry, who took a step back and saluted. "It's good to see you again, Sir."

* * *

The morning was interesting. After first breakfast, Harry took Sirius on his morning workout. The man was in very good shape, but he was panting noticeably harder than Harry was at the end of it. He caught up on what was happening in his Godfather's life, which was practically nothing. Girls and paperwork. Apparently life was pretty dull without Harry there to spice it up.

During second breakfast, Snape excused himself from the table once he saw who Harry's guest was. "Sirius, I had a dream last night. I think it was a memory of the Chamber of Secrets. I think that girl was Ginny, as well. So this would be the second time she has been the hostage. That is rare. I have never had the same mission twice before now." He spoke in his signature monotone, but his Godfather could tell the subtle differences in his inflection.

"Rare indeed. And it would be the third time she was the hostage. We were all hostages, Harry. You saved us all from Voldemort. Never forget that. So what do you think of your little redheaded hostage?" He patted the boy on the head, mussing his hair up.

Harry stared at his food, unsure how to word his answer. "It's ... strange, Sir. When she makes eye contact with me my abdomen contracts rapidly, my heart rate increases even though there is no visible or perceived threat in the area. It almost feels like my body treats her as a threat. I have never had problems like this before; perhaps I am losing my edge. I have not been sleeping well recently, which might contribute to the effects, but I am positive that Miss Weasley has several strange effects on my person. I am unsure what exactly causes it, but I was hoping you had some experience in this matter."

_Harry's got butterflies in his stomach, and he calls them rapid contractions of the abdomen. Oh this is rich!_ Sirius stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. It was more bark than laugh, but Harry knew when his Godfather was laughing at him better than anyone. He waited patiently for him to give much-needed advice. Sirius was a great informant; he was discreet, and knew the answer to almost every question Harry had ever asked.

_I can't believe I'm about to have the talk with little Prongs... Oh James if you could only see me now!_ Putting on his best serious face, he leaned in close to the 6th year Gryffindor and whispered, "You see, Harry, you're getting to that age where you start thinking funny things about girls. It's like this. There are wands and there are holsters..."

Harry's face grew progressively blanker as his Godfather continued animatedly. This sounded intensely complicated. More importantly, what did wands and holsters have to do with contractions in his abdomen?

Ron, Hermione and Ginny came down together, as was their custom, and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the man sitting next to Harry. Hushed whispering was breaking out in pockets around the Great Hall, first Harry Potter and now THE Sirius Black himself was at Hogwarts? They weren't used to celebrity; it was positively confusing to see such a high-profile personality.

Sirius was the immensely popular Auror in Charge of Executive Protection. It was a long title that meant whenever anyone important came into the country, he was the man in charge of making sure they made it OUT of the country safely. It was a very important job; he'd protected dignitaries like the Prime Minister and the President of the United States of America personally.

He had been the subject of many profiles and stories, his dramatic saves were widely known. One time he deflected a killing curse with a ladies pocket mirror, saving the life of a young legal attaché from Brazil. Then he tied up the would-be assassin with his own trousers and performed the second known case of trans-atlantic side-along apparition to personally check him into Azkaban. He was the closest thing to a real-life action hero that the Wizarding World had to offer, and he didn't even care. He only seemed to care about two things: his work and his Godson. Women never lasted more than a few months, but there was never a shortage of them waiting in line.

And here he was, sitting at the Gryffindor table like he had never left it, arm draped around the still-rigid shoulders of the Boy who Lived and whispering about who knows what. They looked up at the trio entering the Great Hall and a mischievous grin broke out on Sirius' face.

* * *

Ginny paled as the lean, muscular form of Sirius Black towered over her. He looked to be at least 9 feet tall; his smile was a strange mix of joy and cunning. His grey eyes were glinting happily, but it did little to ease her fears. "Ginny Weasley? Walk with me." It wasn't an order, it wasn't a request. It was simply a statement. She followed him meekly out of the Great Hall, feeling Harry's piercing gaze follow her until she was out of sight.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Sirius started talking. "My Godson is a strange boy, as I'm sure you've noticed. As such, there are some things you will need to know. First: it's best that you not assume he knows anything. For such a smart young man, he can be remarkably thick at times..." His voice trailed off as they turned the corner.

* * *

Harry didn't see Ginny again until Lunch. She collapsed onto the bench next to him, burying her still beet-red face in her hands. "What did my Godfather want to talk to you about?" He asked in his signature monotone after swallowing his current mouthful.

Ginny glared at him. He had that blank look in his eyes, like he was genuinely curious and had no clue at all. Yes. He really was that dense. She covered her face with her hands again and said in a muffled voice, "If you don't know, I'll never tell. Just eat."


	6. Seekers

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter VI: The Seekers

Harry looked out across the pitch, tightening his dragonhide gloves as he inhaled deeply. Quidditch tryouts couldn't have been held on a better day. The sky was clear and blue enough to look surreal. A crisp 5-7 mile per hour wind blew south-southeast. 72 degrees, around 70 per cent humidity. Perfect.

They were already sorted into groups, Keepers next to the north goalposts, chasers in the middle, beaters on the sidelines, seekers next to the south goalposts. Harry was standing alone among the golden hoops, waiting for orders. For some reason he felt disappointed. The goal of him trying out was obviously to make the team, but there was nobody competing with him. He was guaranteed a spot, now, and he didn't feel he had earned it. For some reason or another, nobody wanted to try out for seeker this year. Ginny Weasley, last year's seeker, was trying out for chaser now that Harry had his eye on the position. Were the other students ill? He couldn't understand.

He waited patiently, watching the tryouts with a critical eye. The beater and keeper hopefuls seemed to favor sitting stationary when idle, while most of the chasers tended to drift back and forth as if pacing.

Ron had to join the hopefuls as well, even the returning team members had to try out for their own positions. This helped to foster a competitive nature, to keep the current team members from resting on their laurels. It made perfect sense to Harry. You wanted the best person for the mission, regardless of who did it last time.

Two beaters were arguing on the grass next to the sideline, Harry was not close enough to make out individual words over the slight breeze but they looked aggressive. Without moving his arms, he looked at the two boys and whispered, "Petrificus totalus." They froze in mid-swing. The practice continued in earnest around them, nobody really noticed that the two boys didn't move or blink. After all, they had already had their turns.

The tryouts went until every last person had tried for the position they wanted. It was already dusk, and Harry hadn't even touched a broom. With the exception of his head, he hadn't seemed to move at all in the last 5 hours. He didn't shift as Ron Weasley walked up to him, his Captain badge shining with a dull gleam in the last vestiges of daylight.

He nodded to Harry and said, "Congratulations, mate. You made the team." He looked around and laughed under his breath, though the Boy who Lived could easily identify the strain in his voice. He was nervous. "It seems the competition this year is a little softer than I'd hoped for, but I'm sure we got the best man for the job."

Impassive green eyes met Ron's, and the Gryffindor Keeper gulped. "Well... I guess we'd better be getting in, then. Filch will have our hides if we stay out here past curfew." He motioned towards the doors leading back to the Entrance Hall, and Harry looked down at his broom, remembering something Sirius had told him once. _Any fool can attack. A true soldier is one who has the enemy in his sights and waits. Never let your blood get the better of you, Harry. Soldiers who allow their emotions to rule them seldom live to advise against it._ With a nod, he shrunk his broom back to its compact size and tucked it into his pocket.

Ron let out a sigh of relief.

* * *

Ginny snuck furtive glances at Harry all through dinner. Sirius' talk from yesterday still had her ears burning when she thought about it.

_Sirius Black slowed to a comfortable pace as soon as they were around the corner and pulled Ginny's head close, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. His tone was almost playful. "Up until this morning, I had my doubts about Harry. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't entirely certain he was a red-blooded male. He never really showed much interest in women, after all. Who am I kidding? He showed absolutely no interest in anyone, whatsoever. I was beginning to fear the worst, and I've never been happier about being wrong._

"_Be patient, he visible, eventually he should come around all on his own. He just needs a bit of time to figure out that it's alright to have needs. Once he has his eye on something, he's relentless. And that is exactly the reason why I'm talking to you right now." He kept walking, but his face was no longer light and jovial. In the span of a heartbeat Sirius Black had changed from a fun-loving, meddling godfather to a man that exuded a commanding and slightly intimidating presence. She shuddered involuntarily._

_Slowly drawing in a breath, Sirius spoke in a low and sincere tone. "Listen. I know he's the Boy who Lived, he's famous, rich, powerful and pretty damn handsome, if I do say so myself. I'm sure that half the women in this school have wondered what it's like to date someone like that. You've got to understand that no matter what, he's just Harry. He doesn't like carrots, Brussels sprouts or turkey. I tried to give him a teddy bear for his 6th birthday, he tore the thing apart in his sleep." Despite the heavy atmosphere, Ginny bit her lip to keep from laughing at the idea. Harry Potter, the Boy who Shredded his Teddy!_

_He stopped walking and turned towards Ginny, looking her in the eye seriously. "He's not a normal boy, Ginny. I trust him with my life, there isn't another person alive that I'd want watching my six. But if you're looking for a typical teenage romance, you're looking in the wrong place. He'll never be a normal boy, you can't expect him to pick up on things like everyone else or do the same things that everyone else does. He's going to try your patience, frustrate you and tie your heart in knots, then he's going to ask you if you're feeling ill. He is ... unique. He might change rather dramatically in the next few months, which is why I'm asking you not to get romantically involved with him. Not for a while, at least." With a slow sigh, he shook his head. Ginny's heart sank in her chest._

"_I'm not trying to discourage you. I've seen enough to know that you're well on your way to being head over heels in love with my Godson." Ginny blushed, shook her head and opened her mouth to deny it, but Sirius talked right over her. "And that's a wonderful thing. The only advice I'd give you is to not rush into something like this. Just be his friend, be there for him. You already know a lot about Harry, but he's much more than that. He has been through too much already, I don't want to see his heart broken. His life has never been easy, most of the blame for that lies on Voldemort and yours truly." His eyes searched hers, though she didn't know why. It was almost like he was apologizing to her._

"_I think you have a right to know why Harry is the way he is. Before he was born, a prophecy was made regarding Voldemort and him. They had to fight, and one of them had to die. Harry's father was the best man I've ever known, the brother I wish I'd have had, and he died so Harry would live. Lily was murdered right along with him. I couldn't sit by and let their son get sent like a lamb to the slaughter. So I took him in and trained him to be a wolf. He couldn't afford to waste his childhood like other children, not with so much riding on the outcome of that confrontation. The Unspeakable assigned to the case found traces of horcrux residue at Voldemort's old house, we couldn't take chances. This was life or death, and I made a promise to keep him alive, whatever the cost. I don't regret my actions, Voldemort did come back and Harry was ready for him._

"_But now that he's dead, Harry has got to be feeling a little lost. All of his life he has been preparing for the day when Voldemort rose again. Now what?" Sirius asked a question, but Ginny felt it was rhetorical. So she wisely kept her mouth shut and let him continue. Her ears were burning, though. This had to be the most awkward moment of her young life. Sirius Black was talking to her about how to deal with loving Harry Potter. If he kept it up much longer, she'd faint!_

"_He needs someone to show him that life is still very much worth living. Our one-man Weapon of Mass Destruction doesn't know how to laugh, he doesn't know how to cry, and he doesn't know how to love. For some people, love is like breathing, it just comes naturally to them. Harry is not one of those people. So someone will just have to teach him how to breathe, Ginny. Do you see what I'm getting at?" His eyes twinkled, the serious atmosphere surrounding them vanished like the morning fog._

_Ginny's cheeks reddened, she nodded silently. How much more torture would she have to endure before he'd be satisfied?! She wanted to scream, 'Yes, I'll happily teach your godson how to properly snog the daylights out of me!'_

_Sirius smiled widely. Could he read her mind? No, that was impossible. She blushed furiously, turning an even more brilliant shade of red. "Good. Now, enough about Harry. Let's talk about you." He winked at her, the nerve of that man!_

* * *

After remembering that incredibly embarrassing talk, she went to find Hermione for ideas. Ginny had been dating since third year, but the boys were always after her and not the other way around. She'd never needed to know how to get a boy's attention, and Hermione must've been incredibly good at getting noticed to get through to a slug-head like Ron. She would have some ideas. She was a genius, she HAD to have ideas!

She found her in the library, wonder of all wonders, putting the finishing touches on 8 inches of parchment for charms. Ginny knew for a fact that it wasn't due for another week, so she didn't feel like she was intruding. "Hello, Hermione! How is the essay coming?" She whispered cheerfully, taking a seat across from her and leaning in.

The bushy-haired Gryffindor raised one eyebrow in curiosity, then shuffled the parchment with the rest of her schoolwork pile and pushed it off to one side unceremoniously. "Spill it." No chitchat, no idle banter, Hermione always got right down to business.

Ginny sighed inwardly. This was going to be a bit embarrassing, any way she looked at it. But if she was going to get Harry to notice her it would take someone like Hermione to figure out how. If that required a little begging and debasement, then so be it. Harry was worth it. "Alright, Herms, it's like this: I have this friend, and she really likes this boy. The boy is really odd, but he's considerate and very brave too. She came to me for advice on how to get that boy to notice her, and I didn't have any ideas. Can you help her out?" Clasping her hands in front of her, she begged silently as Hermione deliberated.

Hermione's mind had been made up since before Ginny had even opened her mouth, although she'd never tell. She'd felt a sort of motherly pull towards the Green-eyed Gryffindor ever since that fateful day on the Hogwarts Express. He was in a strange setting, thrown into the educational system without a survival handbook. Harry needed something constant in his life, something that would help him learn how to properly interact with other people. She hoped that Ginny could be that something. The Boy who Lived had already saved her life, not two weeks into term, and they seemed to be getting along famously. And who better than a Weasley, with their legendary stubbornness? They could give stones a run for their money. It was going to be much easier to convince Ginny than she had originally suspected. She mentally patted herself on the back for her own brilliance.

"For starters, Ginny, you've been the house Seeker since second year. Harry just made Seeker. He's never even played a real game of Quidditch, he's going to need someone to show him the ropes. Don't you think you have a few things to teach him?" A small smirk showed on her face, and the youngest Weasley's eyes widened. Checkmate!

"No! I mean Harry's a nice guy and all, but he wasn't who I was talking about. It's a friend of mine, and a different odd bloke who is really brave and..." Abruptly, Ginny shut her mouth and buried her head in her hands. "It was that obvious, was it?"

Hermione nodded happily, reaching over to pat her friend on the head. She was so innocent sometimes, it warmed the heart to think of it. "And I couldn't be happier for you. Mind you, he's got a long way to go. A very long way." She eyed Ginny seriously. "Are you sure you're up to the task? I know a few 6th years in Herbology that are dying to get their claws into him. Maybe one of them could..."

Ginny's eyes flashed dangerously. "Hermione! Now is most definitely not the time to be joking like that. Honestly, Ron must be rubbing off on you." Her eyes grew distant as she thought aloud. "Quidditch, eh? It might just work. I never thought I'd be happy that they stuck me at Seeker for three years while I waited for a spot to open for Chaser..." Her eyes snapped back into focus, looking determined. She was properly motivated now. Hermione could only hide a smile and guess at what she'd been daydreaming about. "I'll freshen up and check the pitch reservations. Thanks for your help, Hermione!" Without even saying goodbye, she tore out of the library and down the hall, ignoring a screeching Madam Pince.

* * *

Harry completed his second lap around the lake and started in on his third, picking up his pace slightly. His breathing was labored, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He usually didn't run this much in a day, overtraining could injure him as surely as a cutting curse, but he felt ... soft. As if he had become dull.

Just over an hour ago, a boy from the Gryffindor tryouts had walked up behind him, and Harry didn't even realize it until the tall boy slapped a hand on his back. He apologized for dislocating the boy's arm, but Harry was shaken for another reason. The assailant was a 14 year old boy with no experience in stealth, and he wasn't even trying to sneak up behind him. Harry had simply been caught off guard. That would have been fatal, had he been on a mission. A soldier couldn't allow for self-recrimination, not when your life and the lives of your teammates could very well be on the line in the next minute. You picked up and got well enough along. He increased his pace to an all out sprint, jumping over the fallen logs at the far end of the shoreline.

So here he was. Running as hard as he could, trying to hone the razor edge he had sweated blood to gain. His lungs burned, trying to suck in enough oxygen to feed his straining muscles. As the oxygen debt built up painfully, he could feel his body begin to cramp and lag. His legs felt like they were turning into lead, but he moved them all the same. He would complete this lap. If he passed out in the process, he'd just have to sleepwalk across his imaginary finish line.

The right leg of his trousers caught on a low branch lying across the dirt path, as soon as he felt the pull his hand automatically lashed out and vanished the cloth. He ran on minus one trouser leg, not bothering to put it back. His mind was set on the finish line, a small outcropping of large, flat rocks under a willow tree. The edges of his vision blurred as he ran full-tilt across the moist grass, wind whipped his face and the frigid air felt like needles as he inhaled. He pushed himself harder.

* * *

Ginny was giddy. Not only was there an open slot for the Pitch on Sunday morning, but she felt ... confident. She was rather confident by nature in certain matters, but when it came to boys she was remarkably shy. Not so today, she felt good enough to walk straight up to Harry Potter and snog some sense into him!

... Well perhaps she was not quite THAT confident. Still, she had searched the Library, the Common Room, the Great Hall and sent Ron to check the Boy's Dormitory. No Harry anywhere! Why was this happening now, when she was positive that tomorrow she'd think herself a failure and blush like a miserable beet just as soon as Harry looked at her! Damn her instability!

Furrowing her brow, she thought quickly. There had to be some way of finding out where he was in Hogwarts... Her smile widened. Of course!

She ran through the halls, pushing one unfortunate 3rd year out of her way as she closed in on the Gryffindor Common Room. Without even a sideways glance, she shouted the password and didn't stop as the portrait hastily opened to keep from being kicked in the oil paints. 5 seconds later, she was pulling her trunk open and scrounging through the lower layers. Triumphantly, she pulled a square of weathered and folded parchment out of the abyss of crumpled clothing. Drawing her wand, she recited, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

* * *

"Harry?" A voice filtered through his half-conscious mind. Where was he? Had he been captured?

He could feel somebody crouching next to him, he was on his back on a grassy surface. There was vanilla and lavender on the wind. It was a good smell...

"Wake up, Harry..." The voice spoke again, and Harry reluctantly opened his eyes. His sight picture was blurry, he blinked several times to clear his vision. A pair of chocolate brown eyes greeted him. Red hair fell from her shoulders, nearly touching his face. A faint smile was on her lips.

"Ginny." He said. It wasn't a question.

She extended her hand to him expectantly. "C'mon, it's getting dark."

After a moment's hesitation, he took her small hand and allowed her to pull him up. She had leveraged him off the ground rather efficiently, considering her small frame. He found himself quite impressed with that. Brushing his pants off, he set off towards the Great Hall. His stomach was empty.

During the long trek towards food and drink, Harry caught Ginny looking at him several times. He attempted to smile and her cheeks turned pink, like she had been running a moderately-paced mile. It was quite confusing, as he was quite sure that she had not performed any increased physical activity recently.

After a light meal of sliced ham, three muffins, a large plate of salad, a whole pineapple and three oranges, Harry was ready for a short hot shower and a cold granite floor to sleep on. As they passed through the Common Room, Ginny pushed him down onto the couch in front of the fireplace and sat down beside him.

"Putting aside the fact that you have only one trouser leg, how are you feeling?" Her vocal patterns were several steps higher than usual, denoting an unusual amount of stress on her nervous system.

This was the 'small talk' that his housemates used so freely. A good chance to practice. "I am satisfactory. The meals are large, the water is hot and the classes are suitably engaging. I have very few stressors at present." Harry nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer.

Ginny tried a little harder, obviously not as satisfied with such a blunt and dismissive sentence. She would _make_ him talk. "Would you like some help learning to be a Seeker? I've held the position since 2nd year, maybe I've got something to teach you. Would you... like to practice with me? Sunday morning, 9 o'clock maybe? I'll understand if you don't, it's not a big deal or anything..." Her nervousness was accompanied by a weak smile.

Thinking for a moment, Harry nodded at her. "I do not have any pressing engagements on Sunday morning, and it would be incredibly helpful to learn from someone with firsthand knowledge of the position. I'll be in the Common Room at 9." Ginny was smiling as wide as he could recall ever seeing. This made him feel a strong sense of accomplishment. Perhaps he could master this 'small talk' after all.

"Oh, and there's loads more to tell you before we start flying, this position is 90 per cent mental, right?" Ginny went over every single trick in the book, saying anything and everything she could to keep him sitting next to her on the couch. Harry was watching her intently, nodding at appropriate interludes. He looked impressed, which was definitely a good sign, when she described the proper method for performing a Wronski Feint. _Keep it up, girl, he's finally listening to you!_ Her eyes were involuntarily closing, but she forced herself to stay awake. Who knew when she'd ever have the opportunity to talk to him like this again?

After nearly an hour of relating Seeker tactics to the Boy who Lived, Ginny couldn't fight the nagging of her obstinate circadian rhythm. During a breath, she simply drifted off to sleep mid-way through a cogent defense of the grid search pattern. Harry thought she was just relaxing until her head landed on his chest, just below his chin. Her gentle breathing sent small ripples over his cotton t-shirt. He moved to wake her, but something about the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body leaning up against him, the vulnerability inherent in her position... he couldn't.

He didn't know how long he sat there, just staring out at the fire. He was immensely comfortable at the moment, it was a feeling he was not accustomed to for any length of time. Nestled into a plush leather couch, sitting in front of a dying fire with a redheaded girl asleep on his chest. He chuckled involuntarily. If only his Godfather could see him now...

Right on cue, the portrait door swung open to reveal a very haggard-looking Sirius Black. "Harry!" He barked, panting slightly. No doubt he had run up all 7 flights of stairs.

Harry looked down at Ginny, then back up at Sirius. A wolfish grin was on his Godfather's face as he continued in a much quieter tone, "Hate to interrupt, but you've got work to do. Tuck her in, get your gear and rendezvous in Professor Dumbledore's office in 10 minutes. An emergency portkey is being prepared as we speak." Averting his eyes, Sirius strode back through the still-open portrait hole and shut it behind him.

With a sigh of regret Harry pulled Ginny into his arms and stood up, then walked over to the girl's dormitory stairs. Reaching out as far as he could with his left hand, he touched the wall and froze the stairway so he could walk up it. The magical venting system in place through his limiting bracers channeled the searing energy out through his back, as usual, weakening his transmutation considerably. It was an odd thing, that they couldn't actually limit his magical ability. Rather, they allowed about 15 per cent of expended magical energy to focus while exhausting the rest as heat through his back. It seemed a colossal waste of energy, why not just tell him not to transmute things? Shaking his head, Harry cleared his mind of frivolous thoughts and made his way up to Ginny's door.

Everyone else was fast asleep as Harry laid Ginny on top of her covers, then folded them over her. He snuck out of her room, shut the door silently and then ran as fast as he could for his own dormitory.

* * *

"Harry, let me remind you that you reserve the right to deny any mission put before you due to unnecessary risk. If you feel that this mission is above your abilities, simply say so and you will be excused, no questions asked." The Headmaster stared at Harry levelly, hoping that he would take the opportunity to sit one out.

The Boy who Lived looked straight ahead, silent and motionless, waiting to receive his orders. Well, Harry had never yet turned down a mission, regardless of how suicidal it seemed at the time. He grabbed hold of the tube sock that his Godfather proffered with a wink. "Stay sharp, Harry." He whispered.

"Very well, Harry. Our liaison in the Kenyan Ministry of Magic sent an urgent firecall to inform us that a Nundu has been sighted in the Great Rift Valley, just outside of the town of Maralal. They have asked us for a contingent of our Aurors to help subdue the creature before he reaches another town. The portkey will activate in ... 7 seconds. This is your last chance, Harry. The Nundu is widely known to be the deadliest creature in existence, don't throw your life-!" Whatever Albus was going to say next was interrupted by the all-too familiar tug behind his navel.


	7. The Desert Son

_Disclaimer in chapter 1._

_I also do not own Full Metal Panic, nor any of the intellectual property expressed therein_.

Chapter VII: The Desert Son

When Harry stopped spinning, a blast of dry heat hit him in the face. It stung his eyes, causing him to squint as the coarse desert sand pelted his combat uniform. A dark-skinned wizard wearing a bright purple robe with three gold slashes on the sleeves met him, bowing deeply and then looking around. "Have you brought word of when your Ministry can send wizards? Our villages are being slaughtered by the Nundu, and they send a messenger?" His English was clipped and incredibly fast, a variant known as King's English. He sounded frustrated.

The Boy who Lived pulled a square of cloth out of his utility pocket, then tied it securely over his mouth and nose to protect the sensitive membranes in his nasal cavity and throat. "I am not a messenger, I am a soldier. Take me to your commander." Harry replied, returning the bow and following the irate wizard to a nearby tent.

Inside was a maelstrom of activity. Dark-skinned wizards in garishly colored robes pored over a mess of maps strewn over a thick wooden table. Fireplaces blazed in every corner of the tent, which was substantially larger on the inside than it was on the outside.

A particularly tall man with a lurid green beret stomped over to him, a small smirk on his face. "You are barely old enough to shave your head, but this is not a problem. You can stay, it would be incredibly rude to refuse help, however young you may be. It is at about your age that our boys become men, they must slay a lion. Let us see if you can help us to slay the Desert Son."

The man motioned for Harry to go to the far corner of the table, where another man in a lurid beret was waiting with instructions. 12 hour rotations, 4 men in each recon picket. 3,000 square mile search grid. This was going to be a long night, and most likely an even longer week. It was a mission all the same.

After receiving his orders, he was issued a bunk in a rather cramped canvas tent. There were 3 other men in the tent with him, spaced out on two bunk beds across from each other lengthwise. Harry, being last into the tent, got top bunk in the closest rack to the door. Now a gust of either scorching or freezing wind would hit him every time the door flap opened. His bunk looked as though it had never been cleaned, there were tears in the seams that allowed the yellowed cushioning material to show through. Rats, most likely. Even that couldn't dampen his spirits. He'd survived in far more squalid conditions. At least they gave him blankets here.

"You're a wee little Brit, aren't you?" A very large black-haired man with a wicked looking scar running across his forehead sneered. "I thought they were sending some aurors, instead they send a brat to babysit. Why don't you run home and play with your dolls, leave the fighting to real men."

"That's enough, Jackson. We've all had a long day, go to sleep before you say something you're going to regret." Said a man with a stern, fatherly face. His sandy hair was close-cropped, his hazel eyes showed signs of the weary weight of command. A leader, one who had lost men. Jackson obeyed as if ordered, they must be on a team together. From the knowing smile on the third man, a slender figure with a long blonde ponytail trailing down his back, these men were all quite familiar with each other. He nodded slightly and set about making his bed.

Their accents were American, was this Nundu so threatening that soldiers crossed the Atlantic to contain it? It wasn't troubling, there hadn't been this many wizards from this many countries assembled since the attack on the Irish Ministry in 1997. No matter, he needed sleep more than he needed to ponder the ramifications of such a large recon picket.

* * *

Harry woke to the sounds of the men stirring. He feigned sleep to see what he could learn.

The fatherly man was named Shepherd, the slim man was named Miller. Jackson swore that Harry would be the death of them all, he was too young and inexperienced, probably didn't even know which end was up on a wand. He should do them all a favor and send him back to the nursery. Shepherd wouldn't have it. Miller didn't say a thing. They exchanged fierce whispers until the Boy who Lived sat up in bed, causing an awkward minute of silence inside the canvas tent. Without sparing a glance at his bunkmates, he quickly got dressed in his combat uniform and exited the tent in less than 20 seconds. This was not his conversation.

Breakfast was a simple affair, if you discounted the fact that there were over 100 people eating. There were more that had just gotten off rotation, so the size of the group seemed to be between 150 and 250 wizards. Some witches too, but it was easier to call everyone a wizard. More came in the night, perhaps there were even more coming today as well.

Harry couldn't use transmutation in desert environments, the sand's constantly shifting and granular nature prevented him from making contact with enough of it at a time to make anything useful. He had a backup plan if the Nundu proved too powerful to handle with normal magical abilities, but all these people were going to get in his way. He mechanically shoveled the cardboard-flavored pancakes into his mouth as he worked scenarios in his head.

He didn't register his bunkmates sitting down next to him at the table, he was singularly focused on making a plan that didn't involve everyone dying. It wasn't until Jackson slid something at him that he slammed his hand down on top of it and looked away from the other side of the tent. Upon closer observation, it was a red lollipop.

American lollipops were spherical balls of sugar in solid form. They were not recommended dietary material in desert environments, sugar dehydrated you faster than absolutely necessary. They got you salivating, though, which could fool your body into thinking it was taking in water. So you wouldn't think you were thirsty, but you'd be thirstier than if you didn't eat one. Perhaps it was a cultural symbol.

Harry did not want to seem impolite to the people he would be on recon with. They would function better as a team if he established a positive rapport. "Thank you, Jackson." He said as he tucked the lollipop into his utility pouch. Jackson barked out a laugh. Apparently, lollipops had a negative cultural connotation in America. This was going to be a long day.

Harry finished his meal and made his way over to the rationing depot. He was issued several canteens of cold water and a bag of food. His teammates arrived and they were given a grid to search. Several snickers were heard as he unshrunk his broom and mounted it, but nobody said anything. After repeating their orders, they took off into the sky and started their search. As he flew north, he noted offhandedly that this was a loosely run camp. Nobody had even asked his name.

* * *

Ginny frowned as she ate lunch, hunching over her food so nobody could see her scowl and ask questions. She only had one question in her mind. Where was Harry? She fell asleep next to him on the couch, woke up with a grin splitting her face and giggling softly to herself. Then she came to breakfast and he was gone. He always ate with the three of them. Always! He wasn't in potions, and he never missed class for any reason. He wasn't in the Hospital Wing. Now he wasn't at lunch? Harry Potter had a lot of explaining to do, and he was going to do it just as soon as she hunted him down and cornered him like a parole violator.

* * *

4 days later, Harry still hadn't seen anything but sand and dead Kenyans. The Nundu's breath was a pestilence of biblical proportions, capable of wiping out entire villages within a few minutes. The plague had no incubation period at all, no sooner were you infected than you began to show outward signs of infection. It was actually a benefit, in that your suffering was far less prolonged and you had a greatly decreased chance of infecting others.

If contact was made with the Nundu, every man had orders to put repelling charms on themselves to keep air from touching them. If air couldn't get to them, they couldn't get infected by an airborne virus. The negative aspect of that was that if air couldn't get to them, they couldn't breathe. Harry on his best day was only capable of holding his breath for 5.5 minutes, and that was only when he was completely at rest. Every action you took wasted precious oxygen, and the body could only hold 4.2 liters of it. Harry still hadn't figured out what to do with his teammates around. There was no way the 4 of them could subdue a Nundu, and the signal flare they were supposed to send up would take precious minutes for reinforcements to arrive.

He had learned more than he ever wanted to know about the Nundu. It was called the Desert Son because of the way it appeared. After gorging on human flesh, it buried itself beneath the shifting sands of the Chalbi desert to hibernate. When its hunger returned, between 4 and 6 decades later, it would struggle free of the sands as if freeing itself from the womb. It preferred its prey rotting, so it would use its virulent breath to kill entire villages at a time and return after days in the scorching heat had softened its food considerably. Its appetite was incredible.

Jackson was still a bastard, even after taking a few jabs at Harry yesterday. "Hey Brit, what's your mother's name?" the scarred man had asked after they finished their patrol. Brit was his unofficial nickname, nobody had bothered to ask his real one. He was still the only British wizard that his Ministry had sent.

It seemed like his teammate was making progress, if he was making inquiries into non-essential aspects of his life. It was one of the first steps to establishing rapport. Before he could answer, Jackson continued, "I just wanted to know if it was her I rode like a dog last night." He laughed alone, everybody else on the team felt the air get thick with tension around them.

"My mother died when I was a year old. Don't talk about her." Harry informed him, feeling his pulse quicken. There had been soldiers like him before and there would be again, but he really didn't like people talking about his family. They were heroes, they shouldn't be slandered.

Jackson smirked. "How'd that happen, did she finally realize that you weren't gonna get any prettier?" He snickered again, slapping Miller on the back. Miller wasn't laughing, and hadn't said a single word as far as Harry knew.

Harry gripped his wand a little tighter. Inhale, exhale. Don't kill your teammates, they're too useful alive. "She died shielding me from the wand of the darkest wizard since Grindelwald, and she deserves far more respect then you are showing her. Don't talk about her." A wisp of pride flowed through him, he was so proud of his mother, the sheer courage she showed in the face of terror.

Jackson snickered, "Shielding you? I suppose you're going to tell me he took one look at you and ran in terror?" His vocal patterns were highly sarcastic. Well, he asked...

"No. I killed him." Harry's voice was deathly quiet, his eyes blazing as he struggled not to use his wand on a teammate. That sort of thing could get you in a lot of trouble, Boy who Lived or not. He could drop the wand and just punch him, which would probably earn him a slap on the wrist at most. It was getting harder and harder to think of a reason not to. Jackson stared at him for a moment, open mouthed, then he started laughing as hard as the Boy who Lived had ever seen him.

"You're makin' this too easy, Brit! That's the biggest crock of -"

He was silenced by a hand on his shoulder. Shepherd was looking piercingly at the green-eyed boy. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you." He said softly. The man always spoke quietly, always commanded attention. Harry nodded slightly, tracing the faint outline of the scar on his forehead.

"Tell you what. We all get out of this alive, I'll buy you a pint of milk in a dirty glass." Shepherd stuck out his hand, Harry stared at it for a moment before he shook it. That would have been an insult, coming from anyone else. Somehow, it held deeper meaning when it was said by this man. Was it another cultural symbol, milk in a dirty glass? Jackson didn't say anything, but the confused look on his face placated his desire to punch the man. Barely.

He got a chance to talk with Shepherd that night, it was enlightening. In America, it was customary for wizards in politics to have combat experience in case they were ever called to war. This was to prevent them from trying to manage something they knew nothing about. Shepherd wanted to be a senator after his tour with the wizarding branch of the American military.

All he wanted to do was help people live better, fuller lives. Lives that would be free of fear, free from the thought that they might be killed. It was a great ideal. Maybe that's what Harry was working towards, as well. It sounded so close when Shepherd spoke of it, like they would wake up tomorrow and there would be no more wars. His brown eyes were always distant when he spoke of it. It made the teenager think.

Harry didn't know what he'd do if there were no more wars. His entire life had been fighting in them, it was all he knew. Even after he defeated Voldemort, even under pressure from Sirius to find a better life, he chose to keep his position as full-time problem solver. Sirius didn't seem to understand that this was him. He was exceptionally good at his job, the thought of finding something else felt like a waste of his talents. In another word, it felt like betrayal. Even if there was something else out there for him, something else he could throw himself into completely, he couldn't make someone else do his job. The fact remained that his job was suicide for most wizards, and a death wish at best.

* * *

_Where is he?!_ Ginny wondered for the fifteenth time in as many minutes as she sat against a goalpost on the Quidditch Pitch. She'd borrowed a snitch from Madam Hooch's office and been waiting since 8 o'clock, just in case he came out early. Harry was never late. Ever. He often told her that being punctual was the sign of a professional, and that you should strive for professionalism in everything you do.

He had been conspicuously absent for the last few days, none of the faculty would tell her anything, including Dumbledore himself. That old bat infuriated her sometimes! If he was out in harms way, she deserved to know! After all, she was ... what was she, anyway?

Never mind what SHE was. HE was the late one. Was he sleeping in, was he eating breakfast? Did he not know how much self-doubt she was suffering through at the moment? She went through a lot of trouble to look presentable today, it was awfully hard to look decent in clothes comfortable enough to fly in, and her hair rarely cooperated like it did today. She hugged her knees a little closer as a stiff breeze cut through her sweater. He didn't strike her as the type that would stand her up. Even as she thought it, a sliver of misery pierced her. She hated that feeling.

It had happened before, a berk by the name of Ernie MacMillan promised to take her to Hogsmeade before Winter Holiday last year but snuck off with some Hufflepuff hussy. She waited for him all day, her pride stubbornly refused to believe that someone would stand her up like that. She wanted so much to feel wanted, needed. She didn't give up until nightfall, when everyone returned from Hogsmeade anyway. Then she went up to her room and soaked her pillow clean through. She hated feeling weak, and she had never felt weaker than at that moment. More than anything, though, she hated herself for falling for that bastard. Why did she always pick the bastards.

This time was different, she told herself. She wouldn't leave the pitch until he came. She might hate him for it, she would definitely hate herself for it, but she couldn't leave the knife halfway in. A tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek, she scrubbed at it furiously. She would leave the pitch with Harry or with that knife firmly planted in her heart, and there were no two ways about it. She sniffed back her tears and scanned the field before her, waiting for him to walk across it.

* * *

As yet another uneventful sunset came and went, a bitter feeling rose in Harry Potter. He was supposed to be flying around a Quidditch pitch chasing after snitches right now, not around the white-hot Chalbi desert chasing after mirages and the most dangerous magical beast to ever roam the earth.

He had given his word to her. There wasn't much that was more important to him than his word, his promise that every time he said he would do something, it got done. People knew this. They never had to second guess him. He said he'd be there, so he'd be there, as simple as that. He took pride in that consistency, the amount of respect it afforded him.

If he had to choose between chasing a snitch and a mission, it was an easy decision to make. The mission came first, but he'd never had to make the choice before now. His life WAS the mission, back when Voldemort was still alive. It had been mere months since the dark wizard had been defeated, and the broad mission assigned to him by his Godfather conflicted with everything he had been working for. The classes kept him from training, the constant social interaction distracted him further, dulling his reflexes and with them his edge in combat. He was used to a quiet life, one of nonstop training and self-improvement. Did he really need to spend as much time engaging in social interaction as he did? It was satisfying, of course, but was it worth the damage to his combat instincts? He had no answer.

They spotted a red flare shooting skyward from the south, and the time for reflection was over. "Move!!" Shepherd shouted, they banked and flew towards the signaling charm as fast as their brooms could take them. Harry's broom was faster, he arrived at least a minute ahead of them at a vast expanse of desert. Now he could tell why the Kenyan Ministry wanted so many wizards.

Harry couldn't understand why the Nundu was called the Desert Son, there was nothing childish about it at all. It was a leopard of titanic proportions, nearly 70 feet long from the look of it, not counting the length of his tail. Huge, razor-sharp teeth were bared at the flying wizards who were loosing curses as fast as they could aim them. There were at least 50 already on the scene, but their magic wasn't affecting the Nundu in any meaningful sense. Cutting charms seemed useless, there hadn't been a single one that had cut through the thick hair and hide of the mythical beast. Conjunctivitis curses were bouncing off of its face; they were not powerful enough to pierce even the eyelids of this beast. As the Boy who Lived closed in on the target, he clicked off his limiters and let them fall to the desert floor a hundred feet below. The world slowed down as he took in a deep breath of cold, dry air. The wind whipping through his hair was invigorating. Refreshing. Even after 8 straight hours on a broom, he felt great! As much as he hated the feeling of wearing those bracers, he loved taking them off. He likened it to being raised from the dead.

A greenish cloud was expelled from the giant leopard's mouth, a group of wizards flew right through it before they could turn away. They slowed to a stop as they realized their mistake. The cloud began to expand as the lead man shouted out, "If you can hear me, turn your fucking repelling charms on!"

The Nundu's head swiveled as the man passed in front of it, vertically slitted eyes narrowing at more strange humans riding sticks. A paw the size of a dining room came up, swatting with surprising speed at a cluster of wizards who were staying too close to each other. The claws severed limbs and heads with equal ease, knocking several out of the sky in out-of-control flatspins. They hit the desert floor hard; nobody was focused on levitation charms at the moment. Several shouts rang out as the Nundu lashed out again and again at the humans swarming around it like flies. Harry could see why the Nundu was thought to be the most dangerous beast alive. Blood and body parts flew like raindrops spattering on a windowpane. The men were being decimated.

Harry took in a deep breath and cast a repelling charm on himself. The wind died immediately, the sound died with it. It was absolutely silent, nothing was reaching his ears due to the repelling charm.

As he entered range he circled the creature, sending cutting curses at the back of its legs, hoping to sever a tendon or two. It might keep him from clawing at the rest of the wizards. His cutting curse deflected off of the first leg, but the second curse managed to connected with the creature's rear left leg right above the ankle. A small fountain of blood spouted from the wound, causing the creature to whip around to face him. Its tail lashed dangerously close to a soldier that looked like Jackson.

Harry banked away from the Nundu just as jaws flashed shut where he would have been. _Fast!_ The cutting curse didn't go deep enough to sever the tendon, and he had a feeling that none of the next ones would. Harry looped around, deciding to take a more direct approach.

He banked hard and flew straight at the creatures face. When the creature blinked, he cast a conjunctivitis curse at its left pupil. It opened its eye just in time to see the beam, but too late to blink again. With what looked like a hiss it blew up a cloud of sand, obscuring it from Harry's view. He immediately ascended above the sandstorm and quickly scanned the area. It was entirely covered in thick greenish fog, the Nundu plague had infected the entire area. He had at most 2 minutes of air left, but how were the other wizards faring? The plague took 3 to 5 minutes to kill a fully grown human, at most.

The Nundu was gone. It had disappeared completely from view, either it could run incredibly fast or it had buried itself again. 5 wizards ascended through the haze of sand and flew over to Harry, grim faces on each of them. Shepherd was among them. He motioned to Harry then put his fingers to his eyes. _Where is the enemy?_

Harry shook his head, then patted his shoulder twice. _Follow me._ Were they the only ones left? It had all happened so fast, it didn't feel like 3 minutes. And yet it felt like an eternity, when he thought about it.

They circled the area, looking for tracks. A creature that size must have tracks, as long as you were far enough away to recognize them as more than dried up lakebeds. There were no footprints of any size on the salt-crusted surface of the Chalbi. Perhaps it had gone subterranean. Shepherd pointed down below them to the north, where there was a single crack in the flat desert floor. It was getting longer. Could the Nundu tunnel through the desert? It would certainly explain how they took so long to find it the first time. The creature was moving fast, even underground. How did a 70' long leopard tunnel through the desert, and at such speeds?

Harry Potter was running out of air. Several of the other wizards had already cancelled and reapplied theirs, hoping they were far enough away to keep from being infected. The crack had stopped moving, but nothing else. It was hiding. Waiting.

As one of the remaining wizards circled, they dived unexpectedly. Harry wasn't close enough to see the problem, but he must have been infected. He slid limply off of his broom and hit the desert floor. The sand erupted.

A gaping maw exploded from the desert, followed closely by two huge paws that swiped with tremendous speed at a cluster of 3 wizards. 2 avoided the first swipe, but nobody could dodge two of those things. They were still righting themselves when the claws hit them, shredding broom and body alike.

With nobody else to distract it, the Nundu set his sights on Shepherd, the last remaining wizard in the area, and pounced. As the American dived on his broom, his last glance wasn't at the beast in front of him or the ground below, it was to Harry. His face was strangely calm, wistful.

He disappeared, replaced with a row of teeth that were each as large as he was. The mythical creature chomped again, a severed arm and several shredded pieces of wood fell from its bloodstained mouth.

* * *

Ginny was tired. Exhausted really, even though she hadn't flown at all. Her broom lay discarded and forgotten several yards away, the snitch floated lazily around her, prodding her in the head every so often to remind her that yes, she was supposed to chase it. She batted it away, her frustration beginning to show. Damn him.

She had tried, really tried to make a connection with him. She knew Sirius' warning to her, she knew it wouldn't be an easy road, but she wasn't expecting this. He just ... left. His classes, his team, his classmates. Her. He left her without so much as a word, an excuse or an apology.

Softly knocking her head up against the metal shaft of the goalpost, she stared up at the setting sun. She should be up there, finally teaching HIM how to do something.

Thinking back to the first time they met, a sad smile came to her face. He really tried, didn't he? Brow knit in frustration as he struggled hard to make his mouth turn up into a grin, it came out like he was incredibly angry at someone. She remembered her words to him, just after he had beaten several years of life out of Draco Malfoy. A smile was for when you were happy, and wanted to tell someone.

What did she have to be happy about right now, when Harry bloody Potter was in the process of standing her up? She scowled, her cold nose brushing against her upper lip and sending a shiver down her spine. It was too cold out here to be this still, her hands had gone numb hours ago. She'd put warming charms on her gloves to keep from getting frostbite, but it didn't help at all against the wind.

No, Ginevra Weasley had nothing to smile about.

* * *

"No!" Harry screamed wordlessly, wasting the last of his precious oxygen. They were all dead. Every other wizard sent against this beast had been killed. It landed and whipped around to face the Boy who Lived yet again. Its one good eye narrowed hungrily as it crouched, tail whipping up sand as it balanced for the attack.

And then, the creature loomed in front of him. Harry instinctively rolled to the right and pushed off of his broom. The black broom, special-made for him by the Nimbus Corporation, disappeared in a flash. His right foot impacted with the Nundu's bloody yellowed teeth, sending him spinning towards the ground.

Harry had often wondered which mission would be his last. It was a thought he carried with him like a block of concrete in an ALICE pack. He had known that Voldemort was immensely powerful, he had gone into battle that day knowing with dreadful certainty that his life would end. When he emerged victorious and very much alive, he was at a loss. Did it even matter anymore that he lived? What did he have to look forward to afterwards but another mission, and another? Sooner or later, fate would catch up to him. In all his years of fighting men and beasts and demons, never before had he found a reason to fight against that fate.

Now things felt different. He could see death inviting him into the desert floor to join his comrades. For an inexplicable reason, he violently pushed the thought away. He refused to accept death out here in BFE. Harry Potter refused to die.

He had to live. His friends were waiting for him to come back. His friends. People who were completely useless on a battlefield, yet were singularly the most important aspect of his life. A fierce determination flooded him, warming and calming him. He knew what he had to do.

With his teammates gone, at least he no longer had to worry about injuring or killing any of them himself. With a final shout, he released his animagus form.

Harry Potter was by nature a rigidly disciplined being. Every aspect of his life was assigned a time and date, a value, a meaning. A purpose. When he mastered the animagus transformation, all of his teachers and he himself envisioned a new weapon he could harness for his purposes. What he got was a beast with a terrible hunger and a primal mind all its own. Running purely on instinct, lacking basic human qualities like restraint, moral decency and mercy, it attacked anything and everything regardless of who or what it was. Harry's mind reverted to its most basic state when in his animagus form, and the best wizarding minds in the country couldn't figure out how to help Harry regain control over it. It was a completely unpredictable creature, capable of saving his team's life or devouring them with equal propensity and equal regret afterwards.

Harry kept tight reign on it, rarely letting it out. It was without a doubt the most dangerous weapon in his vast arsenal. It was also proof undeniable why those who would become animagus' were told in no uncertain terms to never attempt to become a magical beast.

Harry's repelling shield shattered, his shoulder blades seared as if a red-hot spear was thrust into them. Huge black bony protrusions shot out from them, stretching 20' in each direction. They unfurled quickly, flapping as the support bones became rigid. Black scales erupted from his skin, his whole body was tearing itself apart. It hurt more every time he let it out, but there was nothing else he could do. His tailbone extended, whipping about in the wind as he slowed his descent to the desert floor. Huge black claws shot out from his hands and feet, which were growing along with his body at an incredible rate. Twisted bronze horns sprouted from his head as similarly colored spikes grew out of the end of his tail. Every breath was a lance that pierced his chest. Merlin, but it hurt!!

He couldn't see his eyes, but knew that his pupils now had a vertical and horizontal slits that formed a crosshair. He knew the creature could see in total darkness with these eyes, but he couldn't even tell them which way to look. Control only ever returned to him after he woke up several hours later, his human form never knowing what he'd done and feeling like he'd just regrown every bone in his body. At least he wouldn't have to worry about the Nundu plague anymore, dragons were immune to every form of muggle and magical disease.

_Kill!_ With that final command, Harry's consciousness was forcibly repressed by his animagus form. An earth-shaking roar was loosed as both magical beasts landed on the ground, sending swirls of sand in every direction.

It had been too long.

An emotion similar to that of being released from a long prison sentence pulsed in the Hungarian Horntail as he took in his surroundings, flexed his heavily muscled body and used his nictitating membranes to shield his sensitive eyes from the arid desert wind. His tail whipped about in pleasure, horns glinting dangerously in the moonlight. It was clear as a sunny day to the dragon. Freedom, at last. He would never fall asleep again, and he couldn't wait to get his claws on a nice piece of fresh meat!

The creature in front of him did not seem to share in his joy. He smelled both confusion and all-consuming rage in the giant Leopard. The Nundu dwarfed him, from head to tail he was only 29' long. He wasn't afraid of anything, no matter how large it was. Dragons were prideful creatures, and he was a perfect specimen. His tail rubbed against the length of his body, creating a rasping tremor that shook the ground beneath him.

Stretching his neck and baring row upon row of glinting ivory teeth as he roared a challenge, he grinned predatorily at the larger creature. It wasn't every day he got to kill something bigger than himself, and this creature was one he had never eaten before. Perhaps it tasted better than manflesh. There was only one way to find out.

Opening his mouth, the Horntail squeezed glands in his throat and blew a cone of bright blue flame at the Nundu. While keeping up a steady stream of fire, he leapt off the ground and flew at breakneck speed towards the creature, who was avoiding the superheated flame as best he could. Nothing that large could dodge forever, especially not when your weapon had an lethal range of nearly 60'. The sharp smell of burning hair and seared flesh filled the desert as a scream of pain erupted from the Desert Son.

The leopard's claws flashed upwards, intent on carving the dragon like a Christmas turkey. The Horntail's spiked tail whipped down and around, stabbing the Nundu's forearm viciously. The bronze spikes bit into his flesh with ease, the leopard bit back at an unprotected length of the dragon's tail. Twisted bronze horns and razor-sharp black claws sunk into the Nundu's neck and jaw, even as it prepared to loose another jet of blue flames at the towering creature.

Another feral shriek filled the air of the Chalbi desert as the Leopard shook his head mightily, forcefully removing the dragon's horns from its neck. The Hungarian Horntail beat his wings once to gain altitude, then showered the hapless Nundu with another cone of fire. No sooner had the flames subsided then the dragon dived, latching onto the leopard's back with all four clawed limbs and biting savagely at its neck as his spiked tail beat mercilessly against the skull of the smoking beast. Shudders resonated through the leopard's body as the wicked spikes penetrated its thick skull. Bone fragments and bronze spears met brain tissue, causing a surprised yelp and a longer, drawn out yowl to emerge from its throat.

With a final forceful snap, the Horntail's powerful jaws severed the Nundu's spinal cord, dropping the creature to the desert bonelessly. With a triumphant cry of victory the dragon began to sear and devour the Desert Son even before its life expired.

* * *

Harry groggily opened his eyes, shielding them from the rising sun with an arm that felt like solid lead. His body was on fire, he was sure of it. His breathing was labored; each time he inhaled it felt like molten sand was coursing through his veins. The acrid smell of rotting flesh filled the dry air, it was the nauseating stench of the battlefield.

So many people thought the life of a soldier was somehow glamorous. As if the battles he had fought were noble or just simply because he was on their side. There was nothing just in war, no matter how justified. They had no idea what he saw, the hellish nightmares that plagued his sleep when he was exhausted. No way of knowing exactly how it felt to look out over the battlefield and see the terrible evils that existed there. There were men, decent hardworking human beings, eviscerated by some spell or another. They died a tortured death, each breath killing them slowly as their blood and ruptured internal organs spilled out of their mortal shells to stain the field beneath them. Some were burned alive, filled with unimaginable pain and unable to scream because there was no air to breathe around them.

In his opinion, Avada Kedavra was the most humane curse ever used in battle. It killed, yes, but at least it was quick and painless. Harry had seen uses for even the most innocent of charms that would cause most noncoms to suffer a nervous breakdown. They had no idea what true horrors the battlefield contained, and with luck they never would.

Shaking his head to rid it of useless thoughts and struggling to regain control over himself, he patted his body down to make sure he was indeed himself. His mouth was covered in dried blood that cracked every time his jaw moved. No scales, no horns, no claws, no tail from the feel of it... Good.

He struggled up into a sitting position, gauging the position of the sun to determine the time. It couldn't be any later than 5:30 in the morning, which meant it was 3:30 at Hogwarts.

Looking out in front of him, he saw a charred and mauled carcass that must have belonged to the Nundu. There was nothing left but bone and fur; the meat had been stripped from its body entirely. A single eye that was taller than he was stared vacantly out at the infinite beyond. It was entirely and irreversibly dead. Mission accomplished.

The mere thought of that familiar phrase overloaded him again with a powerful sense of fulfillment. He had survived. Standing shakily, he coughed and summoned his wand. After transfiguring his shirt into a long white cloak that covered his head from the ever harsher sunlight, he set off. It was going to be a long walk back to the FOB.

As a half hour elapsed, then an hour, Harry saw sights that promised more nightmares to come. Men who had fallen from the sky and been unable to catch themselves hit the ground at such force that something strange happened to their bodies: nothing. There was blood, immense amounts of blood, and sometimes brain matter would leak out from a skull impact, but otherwise the victims were perfectly normal looking. One would think that they would be unnaturally flat from such a fall, but from a distance it merely looked as if they were in a deep sleep. It was a faster death than most. Harry took another swig from his canteen, thankful that the cooling charm hadn't worn off yet.

Body parts littered the desert floor. A hand here, fingers there, an elbow and lower leg over there, half of a man that he walked around on his journey. Men with faces that were frozen open in shock. Soldiers who had been infected, coughing up black ichor and blood as they convulsed so hard they broke their own necks. Their veins were dark and bulging, their skin sallow and pale. Harry finished off his last canteen and tossed it aside.

It looked somehow surreal, seeing these bloated figures he had flown with, fought with only hours before. It always seemed surreal, surveying a landscape of carnage that words could not adequately describe. Harry hoped that words never would adequately describe the landscape that day. People did not need nor want to know.

It took only an hour and a half on foot to reach the Forward Operating Base. He headed directly to the war tent, where the massive table and maps of the area were. There were only 4 men there, all with the lurid green berets that marked them as commanders in the Kenyan Ministry. They were somber, motionless and silent as Harry approached.

A pitcher of water was offered as he fell without resistance into a crude wooden chair. Nodding his thanks and unwilling to risk speech with such a parched throat, he drained two full cups before leaning back and relaxing at last. His breathing was still raspy and harsh, his throat must have sustained environmental damage from the dry, dusty air.

"What happened out there?" The large black man who greeted him when he arrived asked gravely. After a long moment Harry put his wand to his temple and drew a silvery bundle of threads from his mind. The man leaned forward and the Boy who Lived tapped the end of his wand to the man's skull, transferring his memory of the last 12 hours to the Officer in Charge. Immediately, he sheathed his wand again.

No sooner had the man righted himself than Harry fell out of the chair, unconscious before he hit the dusty floor.

* * *

When he awoke, his throat had stopped hurting. As he performed a mental checklist of his physical status, he realized that his entire body had stopped hurting. He was on a bunk with clean, crisp white sheets. A metal tray with empty flasks and bottles was next to him, someone had force-fed him potions. Whoever they were, they were more than competent.

Harry slid his feet off of the bunk and onto the hard floor below. He was still fully dressed, boots and all. They had been cleaned thoroughly, no trace of blood remained. That made it easier. Pushing aside the tent flap and squinting against the harsh light outside, he made his way over to the war tent once again and awaited instruction.

He stood at attention until addressed by the same large man he had transferred his memories to. His brown face was split with a large grin. "You have done an incredible thing, boy, although I do not understand how it is possible. You have rid us of the Desert Son. It is a miracle!" The man clapped a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder, nearly making his knees buckle. The other Commanders in the tent were all engaged in firecalls, most likely informing them that the Nundu was defeated.

"Sir, if it is possible I would like to return to my country immediately." Harry said in the strongest voice he could manage.

The man's joyous laughter died, he looked seriously at the green-eyed boy. "I am Masai, young Potter. When a boy in our culture kills his first lion, he receives the gift of manhood from the gods. From that day on, he is a man capable of living his own life, making his own decisions. When you killed the Desert Son, you became _kakawana_. Strongest of men." The man closed his fist and placed it over his heart. "Live well, _kakawana_. You will be honored in our history for your strength."

Harry nodded, placing his own fist on his heart in a sign of reciprocity. Pride swelled in him. Though he had only just met this man, he found himself intensely proud that his actions were impressive to him. "Live well, Commander." He repeated.

The portkey that brought him here was prepared for him again and with a jerk Harry found himself once more in the Headmaster's office.

Albus was in the middle of a firecall, so Harry stood at attention until addressed. "Welcome back, Harry." Albus said, looking both relieved and incredibly tired. "It is good to see you again."

"It is good to be seen, Headmaster. Mission successful. Requesting permission to retire to my dormitory for R&R." Harry's throat was healed, but he couldn't keep the weariness out of his voice.

"Granted. Good night, Harry." The Headmaster stood as the Boy who Lived turned and walked out of his office.

* * *

As he entered the Gryffindor common room, the first thing he noticed was a figure sitting against the wall next to the bottom of the stairway. A neatly combed ponytail of red hair protruded from the curled-up girl. _Ginny?_ Harry's breath caught in his throat. _She was waiting for me, wasn't she. She waited all day for me._ An wrenching mix of happiness and regret caused his stomach to flip.

Softly making his way over to the stairway, he turned around and sat down next to her. The slight motion caused her to stir slightly. She mumbled tiredly, her eyes staying closed. Her eyelids were puffy and red, she had been crying. The tears weren't even dry yet. How long had she cried because of him?

"I'm back." Harry whispered, hoping she wouldn't be angry with him.

Ginny leaned up against him; her head fell against his shoulder and rolled down to rest on his chest. She was cold, shivering. Slowly, he raised his arm and put it around her shoulders, pulling her closer so his body heat would warm her. He wanted to say he was too tired to cast a warming charm, but truthfully he liked the feeling of her sleeping against him. Warm tears soaked through his shirt as she cried softly. He rubbed her back in as soothing a gesture as he knew how to make. Soon enough her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep again.

Harry stared down at the back of her head, lost in thought. She was so vulnerable right now. So completely open and trusting with him. She didn't know what he had seen, what he had just been through. She just leaned against him and forgave him completely.

Something that had long been dormant in Harry's soul was rekindled that night, though he didn't notice at the time.

Hope.


	8. Phantasms and Promises

_Disclaimer in chapter 1._

_Warning: This chapter, like many others, contains graphic depictions of violence. If you are uncomfortable reading graphic depictions of violence, I highly recommend reading a different story from a different author._

Chapter VIII: Phantasms and Promises

Ginny's eyes fluttered, but stayed closed. She just wasn't ready to get up yet, after last night. She had waited as long as she could, but he didn't show up. Her heart twisted as she remembered the biting wind and bitter cold, waiting on the pitch for a not-quite-date that never quite happened. Her self-esteem was dropping by the second. Oh, he would pay for standing her up like that.

She hugged her favorite pillow a little tighter, drifting in and out of consciousness. She was sprawled out in usual style: on her stomach but tilted a little so her legs could curl up around her body pillow in a fetal position. At least her dorm mates weren't up and pestering her yet, they always made fun of the way she slept. _Wait, I didn't go up to the dorm last night. I slept in the Common Room, didn't I? Was the Common Room floor always this warm? And when did I get a blanket?_ She wondered idly, pulling the incredibly soft covering a little tighter around her and burying herself in the warmth of the silky pillow. No answers, but she was awfully comfortable at the moment. She seemed to be laying on something that propped her up a bit, keeping her upper body off of the cold granite floor. A warm reassuring weight rested lightly across her back. A few more minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt, and sleep this good was hard to come by. Worry about everything later, she deserved some rest.

When she woke again, she felt utterly refreshed. That was easily the best night's sleep she'd had since summer holiday. Her eyes still didn't want to open, and she didn't feel like making them. Twisting and contorting, she stretched and let out a strained squeak as she arched her back. Collapsing onto her back, she basked in the simple pleasure of being completely warm for a few minutes. Time washed over her in a wave of contented bliss before the questions from last night resurfaced. Well, everyone had to wake up eventually...

Blinking her eyes a few times with a muted sigh, she was met with a pair of deep green eyes. Strange, none of her dorm mates had green eyes... Her mind froze.

_Harry?_

* * *

Harry was once again unsure what protocol required of him. Ginny had fallen asleep on his lap and the Common Room was cold enough to cause her to shiver uncontrollably. For some reason, it felt like waking her up would be a bad thing. So he summoned a pillow from her dorm and transfigured a blanket for her. In Harry's experience, someone tearing the blankets off of your bed was punishment for not making it properly the first time.

One warming charm later, she stopped shivering. A small smile broke out on her sleeping face as she clutched the pillow tightly. Harry found himself captivated. She was just so ... _cute_. It was a term usually reserved for a small weapon, to denote it's ineffectiveness in a combat situation. The word seemed to fit her for other reasons entirely. She was small, and most likely ineffective in a combat situation, but something about the way she looked at the moment seemed so fragile and innocent. The Boy who Lived found himself wondering if combat effectiveness was truly the most important quality one could possess.

In the short time that he had known these noncoms at Hogwarts, several people had become important to Harry. Ginny among them. None of them had impressed him with their abilities in battle, yet he was strangely drawn to them anyway. He just felt good when he was around them, though there was no logical use for such a feeling. Warmth gathered in his torso when they laughed, smiled. The thought of leaving them left him feeling empty. It was a strong motivator, he couldn't deny that. Was this what Sirius meant by making friends? These people certainly fit the definition of the word. Harry Potter had friends.

Unwilling to move or disturb Ginny's sleep, he simply sat with his back against the wall. Truthfully, he was content to watch her sleep and think about this strange new sensation in his torso. He had just completed a mission; that sense of fulfillment was still lingering. This was a different feeling, but it had much in common with the fulfillment he got from doing his job. Just sitting here in the Gryffindor Common Room guarding Ginny as she slept on his lap, it made him feel good to know she trusted him enough to let down her defenses like this.

She was still somewhat unsettled in her sleep. He pulled the blanket tighter around her to conserve the warming charm's energy, and after a moments deliberation he hesitantly rested his arm on her back. It felt right, somehow. Her breathing slowed noticeably, she was fully relaxed now.

He didn't keep track of how long he sat there, just watching her. Even though he was exhausted right down to his bones, he couldn't fall asleep. He memorized every single facet of her face by the pale moonlight that filtered into the Common Room. He counted her freckles. He listened to her heartbeat and imagined what she was dreaming about. Were they troubled dreams? She had seen a lot of trauma in the last few weeks, most of it related to him.

She would be angry at him, he had no doubt. He had broken his word, something that never actually happened before. It was a new sensation, and particularly unpleasant. As if someone determined to use his intestines to tie a buntline hitch. Was this guilt?

The knotting sensation in his stomach only grew when he saw her eyes open.

* * *

To her credit, Ginny didn't scream. She was startled, of course, but she bit her lip and stared soundlessly back up at the Boy who Lived expectantly. Where was she?

"Good morning." He whispered quietly. His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

She looked down at the blanket covering her, pulling it up over her nose so that only her eyes were visible. Well, he finally showed up. He looked so haggard, so worn out that Ginny didn't have the heart to scream at him. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and said, "We're in a fight." She put on the best scowl she could muster, considering he couldn't see her mouth. Her mind was whirling with questions. Why was Harry in the Common Room, and why was she sleeping on his lap? More importantly, why did she have to enjoy it so much? She was supposed to be angry with him and he wasn't playing fair!

Harry peered down at the girl on his lap. She was in a completely indefensible position, and she wanted to fight? Perhaps she meant the kind of fight she'd seen Ron and Hermione get into once. It involved screaming and throwing things, and it ended abruptly when Ron pushed Hermione down onto the couch and kissed her soundly. It didn't sound like such a bad idea, actually, but screaming and throwing things was not something he wanted to experience right now. Well, he'd been thinking of what to say to her when she woke up and only one thing came to mind.

"I'm sorry, Ginny." He said it so softly that she wasn't even sure she heard him correctly.

Peering through her narrowed eyelids, she took in situation. She fell asleep at some point during the night, Harry crept in and sat down next to her. She slept on his lap, somehow he managed to get a hold of her pillow and a really soft blanket, then she woke up and he apologized. It didn't look like he'd gotten a wink of sleep in a week, judging by the way his head was bobbing uncertainly. He stood her up, and for that he earned her eternal burning rage, but he looked terribly ragged. Could she really be mad at someone who was that thoroughly exhausted? Merlin knew where he'd been the last few days. Pity won out over rage almost instantly. She let out a sigh.

"Damn. It's really hard to be mad at you when you look like you've been through hell. Give me a minute to stew, alright?" It wasn't a question. She didn't move from under the blanket, either. He just stared back at her, unmoving and unblinking.

After at least five minutes of her glaring spitefully up at the Boy who Lived, she let out an exasperated moan. "I give up. Don't let it happen again, alright?" Harry could see traces of pain in her eyes as she said that, but relief flooded him. Curiosity was eating her inside, but she knew he wouldn't tell her where he'd been. It was best to stick to safer questions that he would actually answer. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No." Harry was as verbose as always. She repressed the urge to kick him in the head. It would let the cold air into her blanket.

"Why not?" Ginny pried. She'd talk it out of him or she'd beat it out of him, and she didn't care which.

Harry hadn't looked away from her or even blinked in the time she'd been awake, it was starting to worry her. He looked a lot more out of it than he usually did. Whatever had happened, it must've been something to tire out the Boy who Lived.

"I don't know." He answered truthfully.

_Well that's enough information for me_. She cursed her inability to pry. Ginny never had been very good at interrogations, why start now? _A sarcastic inner monologue this early in the morning? I must've slept like a rock_.

Blinking again, Ginny looked around to get her bearings. They were against the wall next to the boy's dormitory staircase, and she had slept on Harry Potter's lap all night. She wanted to ask him why he stayed down here with her instead of just going up to sleep. She wanted to ask why he was so thoughtful, so nice to her. More than that, however, she wanted him to get some sleep.

"You should go up to your dorm and rest, Harry. I'll make sure your Professors know that you're not feeling well." She felt a great deal of sympathy for this boy, only a year apart from her. Sometimes he looked so much older, and now was one of those times.

Harry shut his eyes for the first time in half an hour. He didn't know if he'd be able to open them again, he was so incredibly tired. He wouldn't have made it up the stairs if he had wanted to. "I'm all right." Even as he said it, he felt himself shutting down.

Ginny stared up at the Boy who Lived in awe. He had fallen asleep sitting up! Suppressing a giggle, she settled back in and closed her eyes. Harry's hand was resting lightly on her stomach; she pulled his arm around her like an extra blanket. She was surprisingly comfortable with it, so she nestled against him and curled up again. _I suppose I could stay here a while longer_...

* * *

Lunch was complicated. Ron and Hermione hadn't stopped asking questions about Harry since she sat down. "Look, I'm sure he'll tell you all about it when he wakes up. Let him sleep in peace!" Ginny protested. He had staggered up to his side of the dormitories when she got up to go eat breakfast and get to class late.

Ron shook his head. "It's not natural for him to sleep this late, I'm just going to go up and check on him." Despite Ginny's insistence that he just needed time, he practically ran out of the Great Hall and up to the Gryffindor dormitories.

When he opened the door to his dorm, he saw Harry sitting in his normal sleeping position. The wave of heat that hit him wasn't very normal, however. Harry's eyelids were fluttering rapidly, his fists were clenched and the air around him seemed to spark with electricity. His bed was literally on fire from the amount of magical heat being discharged through his back.

"Harry, stop!" Ron shouted, his heart beating wildly. _This is not good_. _Is he having a nightmare?_ "Wake up!" Nothing worked. Harry's head snapped back a little bit, a twitch from his nightmare, the stone wall behind the bed of the Boy who Lived began to blacken, some of the stones started to glow red hot. His four-poster bed was in cinders, collapsing inward as he convulsed in the throes of his dream. The air hitting Ron was incredibly dry and hot. Picking up a nearby pillow, Ron threw it as hard as he could at Harry's head. It exploded in a puff of feathers that quickly caught fire. _Well shit_. Ron thought, searching frantically for something that would wake the green-eyed Gryffindor up. Even as he searched a scorching blast of hot air hit him, knocking him back.

Reaching into his pocket, Ron pulled out his wand and shouted, "_Aguamenti!_" A jet of water sprung from his wand, he pointed it at Harry and hit him square in the face. The heat of the room dissipated almost instantly, leaving only the sizzling sound of nearly molten rock and his burning bed. Harry's body was smoking, but seemed unharmed. Ron shut off the water and looked at his friend through the thick steam filling the dormitory.

Harry turned silently and stared blankly at the red-haired boy. His eyes were distant, filled with an intense emotion that the youngest Weasley male recognized with a growing sense of dread. It made Ron's blood turn to ice in his veins. He'd seen a look like that once before on a man and it terrified him. Gathering up his courage, he asked in a slightly squeaky voice full of concern, "You alright, mate?"

The Boy who Lived was silent for a moment for a moment, then nodded. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Ron." Standing up suddenly, he turned around and surveyed the damage. It was the worst accidental discharge he'd ever had. They always got worse, every time it happened. He must've been so exhausted that he fell into too deep a sleep. That's why the nightmares came. He shuddered involuntarily, then straightened up and said, "I'll be fine."

Walking into the bathroom, the 16 year old soldier patted his face and shoulders with a towel to get the excess water off. Walking out again, he told Ron, "I am going to check myself in at the hospital wing. Let the stones cool down naturally or they'll crack." Putting a hand on Ron's shoulder momentarily, he slipped past and marched down the stairs.

_What was that_... Ron contemplated as he stared at the scorched stone wall. It hissed and popped, melting slowly down towards the ground.

* * *

Not even Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Lupin could take Ron's mind off of his friend. What happened in there? He'd never seen anything like it before, never seen anything like Harry before. It was impressive and frightening all at once; he realized he'd have to be a lot stronger to be worthy of Harry's friendship. If Ron was anything, he was loyal to his friends. He'd skip barefoot into hell with a grin on his face for his friends, and this was no exception. Whatever it took, no matter how trivial it may seem. He would be there for Harry in any way he could.

Dinner was a rushed affair, and soon after he was dragging Hermione and Ginny with him towards the Hospital Wing.

"What happened to him?" Hermione asked, wondering what it took to put the Boy who Lived in the care of Madam Pomfrey.

The answer never came. "A little mudblood and two mudblood lovers. Christmas must have come early this year." The drawling voice came from the intersection ahead. Draco Malfoy was just standing there with his two goons, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. He was rarely seen without them, recently.

Ron opened his mouth to retort but Hermione beat him to it, "Are you on your way to the Hospital Wing as well? I don't think she has any potions for erectile dysfunction. I just thought I'd save you the trouble of walking all the way there." She had a cheery smile on her face.

Draco's face went red. "I don't need anything like that!" he spat.

Her eyes shifted between the two goons. "It's alright, Draco. When you don't have much contact with witches I hear it's perfectly natural to feel sexual urges towards your fellow wizard." With a condescending nod, she added, "Though it appears your breeding didn't account for taste..."

Draco's veins bulged on his neck. Crabbe clenched his fists and Goyle just stared at Hermione blankly.

"Wait!" Ron's voice rose above the din. Surprisingly, all involved parties stopped what they were doing to stare at him questioningly. With a cursory glance at each end of the corridor, he nodded. "Good, no teachers to break it up. 'Mione, just this once would you let me handle it? I feel like a failure as a man when I can't defend your honor!" He was practically begging. His puppy dog eyes had no effect on his sister, so he focused his efforts on the girl he'd been friends with since the first time he rode the Hogwarts Express.

With a sigh, she relented. "Oh all right. Do what you will, but if you get petrified I'm leaving you here." Hermione tugged on Ginny's sleeve, leading them behind a nearby suit of armor. "Carry on, gentlemen."

"Brilliant!" Ron had a huge grin on his face. By the time he turned back towards the three Slytherins they had identical predatory grins on their faces.

"Thanks for making this easier, Weasley. I guess it's true then, what they say about Gryffindors." Draco laughed, Crabbe and Goyle laughed with him. Ron was fairly certain that neither of his sidekicks had a clue what anyone said about Gryffindors.

"Yeah? And what's that, Malfoy?" Ron asked, his fingers already going for the wand holstered to his right forearm.

"They would rather-" whatever Gryffindors would rather do, Draco was rudely interrupted.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" Ron shot stunners at both Crabbe and Goyle, incapacitating them instantly. They dropped like fallen trees. "Well, that was easier than I thought it'd be..."

Draco shot a conjunctivitis curse at Ronald, who barely managed to duck under it as it whizzed by his face. "Expelliarmus!" the Gryffindor shouted triumphantly, sending Draco's wand flying. Clapping was heard from behind the suit of armor.

The heir of the Malfoy name looked at his empty palm with a pained look on his face. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he glanced past Ron at his now-useless wand.

The keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team looked at his disarmed opponent, then down at his own wand. "Tell you what, Malfoy." With a casual flick, he threw his own wand behind him to join Draco's. "Let's do this the old-fashioned way." Cracking his knuckles menacingly, he advanced on the only Slytherin left standing.

Sometimes in life, people just need a good beating. For Draco Malfoy that time of need was now. He put up his fists in a decent defensive stance, but Ron had weight, height, reach and strength on him. Ron's first punch broke through his opponent's guard and smashed into the bridge of his nose, shattering the fragile cartilage that connected his sinuses to their sensitive capillaries. Tears flooded his vision as a spurt of warm blood erupted from his face.

"I've been waiting all year to do that, ferret boy!" Ron shouted as Malfoy brought his hands up to his face. Pulling back again, he punched Draco in the face once again for good measure and then crashed his knee into Malfoy's stomach. The blond Slytherin collapsed bonelessly on the ground, wheezing hard enough to cause concern if anyone present cared. Nobody did.

Three petrifying charms and several stomps later, Ron's size 11 shoes were once again on their merry way to the Hospital wing. Hermione cast a cleaning charm on them quietly. "Honestly, Ron, we could've handled that more... well less messily. What if he tells Professor Snape?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I've told you too many times, his name is Snape or 'that slimy git'. The man shouldn't be within a mile of children. I don't care if he's nice to Harry, he hasn't shown one shred of decency to any of us. Bitter rivalries aside, Malfoy won't tell a soul." He had a small smile on his face, the kind he always got when he knew a secret that nobody else did.

"And how in Merlin's name would you know that?" Ginny asked, genuinely perplexed.

"Because." Ron talked slowly, as if addressing a first year. "Then people would know that all three of them got beaten by one person. With Harry in the Hospital Wing and in no condition to be fighting, there isn't an excuse for getting thrashed by a mudblood lover."

"Ron, you really shouldn't use that word." Hermione nagged, frowning in disproval.

The red-haired boy just swung his arm over Hermione's shoulder and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "But 'Mione, you're _my_ little mudblood." The bushy-haired Gryffindor blushed furiously. Ginny made gagging sounds.

* * *

Harry wiped at a gash above his left eye, trying to keep the blood from obscuring his field of vision. He grit his teeth in frustration. The cutting curse had been too close. He had two major gashes that even clotting charms couldn't stop. Countless small cuts from exploding rock and glass. It wasn't life-threatening, but it could very easily become so if he caught the wrong end of many more cutting curses.

He wouldn't die here because Voldemort wasn't here. It was his second in command that Harry was after tonight. More specifically, he was after an artifact that his second in command had in his possession. A dozen Aurors had set up a perimeter outside of Lucius Malfoy's estates, complete with anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards. The B&E, breaking and entering, was left to the Boy who Lived. He had volunteered for the job, seeing as nobody else present was even trained for this set of circumstances. So here he was, trudging through a dank hallway in the belly of Malfoy Manor, trying to anticipate when the next trap or Death Eater would appear in front of him while sticking to the shadows.

Pushing in a pair of gold-gilded mahogany doors, Harry met his opponent.

"Harry Potter. I've heard so much about you. Won't you come in?" The wall sconces and blazing fireplace cast flickering light onto the cold, calculating face of Lucius Malfoy. "I've been dying to meet you..." With a sinister grin, the Master of Malfoy Manor tipped his goblet back, draining the last of a dark red wine. His wand was on the table next to him.

"Where is it, Lucius." Harry said with a growl, his wand pointed straight at the man's heart. He was in no mood for 'small talk'. He had a very specific mission tonight, the culmination of a decade's worth of planning.

Flashing a smile that showed nearly all of his incredibly white teeth, Lucius chuckled. "Patience, Harry. I've been looking forward to this, let me enjoy it just a little longer." His long, thin fingers caressed his wand, but he didn't pick it up.

The blonde man continued, pacing back and forth as he spoke. "You know, I often catch myself staring at it. In wonder, I suppose. It is a terrifying thought, that there exists an emotion that would cause you to throw your own life away in such dramatic fashion. Simply terrifying." Digging into his pocket, Lucius withdrew a silver band that gleamed in the pale firelight. "Do you know what this is, Harry?"

Harry looked at the small silver ring in Lucius' hand, feeling a strange emotion building at the back of his skull. Like a sharp pressure was being applied. "My father's wedding ring. Place it on the table and step away slowly."

Lucius laughed darkly. He asked again, "Do you know what this IS, Harry Potter?" His grey eyes shone in the firelight.

Harry's heart was beating rapidly. His vision was clouding, his fists were subconsciously clenching. "Tom's last horcrux." He said softly. Hatred as he had never known broke inside of him. White-hot rage pulsed through his veins, igniting every nerve in his body. His breathing became ragged, each measured breath sucked in through gritted teeth.

With one last lingering look at the silver ring, Lucius placed the horcrux on the table next to him and picked up his wand. "I can feel your anger burning, Harry. Show me." The smirk on his face was decadent as he leveled his wand at the Boy who Lived.

One thing that Harry had learned while in the field is that every man had his price. Without exception there was an upper limit in every single person, a certain tolerance for something. The point at which they would sacrifice any and all loyalties to get that much money or be rid of that much pain. The point at which they ceased being human. The breaking point. It was a hard revelation to accept. How much could he himself take? What was Harry Potter's price, what would it take to break him? Thankfully, no one had yet found the answer.

This was the problem with trying to gather information from an unwilling source. You could use mind rips, taking recently accessed memories from a man's head without his consent. In the case of Malfoy, an accomplished occlumens, the mind rip would be worse than useless. An occlumens could systematically replace each of his recent memories with tampered, falsified versions. He could lead Harry into an ambush, for all he knew. Veritaserum was useless as well, as an occlumens could simply believe that he was telling the truth at the time. One did what one had to when in the service of a monster like Tom Riddle. No, the only way to get reliable information out of Lucius Malfoy was to beat it out of him. You had to break a man like him.

Lucius Malfoy was an incredibly hard man to break. He was bleeding so badly that a blood replenishing potion had to be forced down his throat to keep him from dying. His arms and legs were utterly and completely broken beyond repair. His skin was mottled blue and pale white, sickly bruises dented his body from head to toe. He would never run again, not with the best magical and muggle healing that the world could offer. He would never again sign his name, dance, drink wine from his own goblet, floss his teeth or make love to a woman in any position but supine. He would never again fly a broom, never lift himself off of the ground, never bathe himself completely without assistance. His fingernails and toenails had been ripped off, his ribs had been beaten repeatedly with iron bars. His hands had been tied behind his back and then used to suspend him from the ceiling. Hanging from dislocated shoulders put immense pressure on the muscle fibers, it was said to be indescribably painful.

Harry had run out of bones to break, if the man didn't start talking he'd have to move on to maiming, severing body parts and systematically destroying four of his five senses. You couldn't interrogate a deaf man. Lucius howled, spat, screamed and swore, but he still hadn't given up a single usable piece of information. He had only been under duress for about 3 hours, but Harry was already wondering if perhaps this man had no breaking point, or if he was already broken and merely good at hiding it.

"You are not being cooperative, Lucius. I can't help you if you don't cooperate." Harry went back to the script. "Just tell me where I can find Tom and I'll let you die quickly. Your other option isn't pleasant. I've got all day, you know. I have as long as I need to break you. You will break. Everyone does, eventually. It's just a matter of how much you want it to hurt before I get what I want. The next trick I have is one I invented myself." Never breaking eye contact from Malfoy, Harry reached towards the wall and transmuted what looked to be a large metal hand drill. The drill was two feet long and nearly an inch in diameter.

"In ten seconds I am going to lift your foot and stick it to the table in front of you. I will put a freezing charm on your leg so the nerve endings are more sensitive. Then I will place the tip of this hand drill on the bottom of your foot and begin drilling towards your kneecap. When I reach your kneecap I will leave the drill there and use another drill in your other leg. I will then use a heating charm on the drills to raise their temperatures to 450 degrees. You have three seconds to tell me something useful before I begin. Three." Harry met the tortured face of Lucius Malfoy blankly. A soldier shows no emotion. He had a dark lord to kill, and this man was in the way.

"Two. One." Harry grabbed Lucius' right ankle and slammed it down hard onto the table in front of him. He wandlessly performed a sticking charm and a freezing charm, feeling the foot grow cold under his hand, then picked up the drill and placed it under the sensitive arch of his foot. In 14 twists, the metal bit would carve through his foot, his ankle, his shin and calf, and finally into his knee. It would tear his anterior and posterior cruciate ligaments, his patellar tendon, his hamstring and quadriceps all at once when it reached the knee. The pain from that would render him unconscious again, in all probability. Lucius began to hyperventilate in his hanging position, his respiration increasing in the anticipation of agony. He would not be disappointed.

He pressed the drill into the tender underside of Lucius' foot and twisted the drill once. The bit cut through skin and flesh and bone with equal ease and embedded itself in the fine bones of his ankle. A small jet of blood squirted out onto the table, but most of the damage was taking place inside of his leg. Lucius did not have any strength left in his voice, but his entire body was contorting as he cried out hoarsely and as loud as he could. At the second twist, he passed out. Harry woke him up immediately. He was bleeding from the mouth where he'd bitten his tongue. From the looks of it, his tongue was bleeding rather profusely now. Several of his teeth fractured with audible cracks as he grit his teeth in agony and glowered at the Boy who Lived.

"I have 12 more twists to make on this leg, Lucius, and you've got another one. It's over, save yourself the pain. I don't enjoy this any more than you do, just tell me where to find Tom and this will all be over." Harry reasoned with him again, but before an answer could be made he twisted again. "11 more twists."

"G..." Harry immediately let go of the drill and looked piercingly at Lucius Malfoy. Tears were streaming down his face, blood and spittle were caked around his mouth from when he broke his own teeth, his right eye was swollen shut from a backhand early in the interrogation. His head was twitching to the left slightly, and his hair was damp and matted with sweat. His entire body was broken and hanging from the ceiling with only his pierced right foot to keep some of the weight off of his disjoined shoulders. The drill had gone through his ankle already, the bone fragments would be rubbing together painfully with each fading pulse of his heart.

"E-" Even though it was barely audible, the sound brought a fierce round of coughing to Lucius. His partially drilled leg was still stuck to the table, causing him to cry out in pain after each hacking sound. "Every midnight. Portkey. Second goblet from left. Back row. Cabinet." These words were issued with tremendous effort, each syllable a labor of its own. It was hard to breathe deep enough when doing so caused you indescribable pain. His tortured grey eyes looked pointedly over Harry's shoulder towards the kitchen, then back at him. "Please."

Never in his life had Lucius Malfoy asked nicely for anything. Not as a spoiled child, not as a student at Hogwarts, not as a savvy businessman and most certainly not as a Death Eater.

Harry looked into his eyes, searching, then nodded imperceptibly. "I believe you." He picked up his wand, which was resting next to his father's wedding ring, and leveled it at a man who only this morning was as feared as the Dark Lord himself.

Lucius spared one last glance at the Boy who Lived, then his eyes closed and he leaned his head back. "Do it." He croaked.

"_Avada Kedavra."_

* * *

Harry was pulled back to consciousness as the mercifully green light filled his vision. Another nightmare without an ounce of fiction. He'd been having these dreams all too frequently, of late. He heard quiet chatter from close by.

His eyes flickered open, blinking several times to clear the film of sleep from his eyes.

"He's awake. Shh!" Ron shushed the two girls and leaned over the hospital bed. He had a serious expression on his face, but forced a smile anyway. "Hey, mate. You looked just about dead there, glad to see you're still with us. How do you feel?"

Harry took a mental inventory of his current state. Other than a severe case of magical and physical exhaustion, several torn muscles and the usual sleep deprivation, he found nothing wrong. "I'll live." He replied in a monotone.

Ron's grin turned up a little more, he wasn't faking it anymore. "Good to hear it! Do you know how long Pomfrey's going to keep you here?"

Harry shook his head. All he knew was that Pomfrey had one more round of potions for him to take.

As if on cue, Madam Pomfrey threw open the linen privacy screen and strode purposefully up to the table next to Harry's bed. "Out." She looked pointedly at his three housemates.

Harry spoke up quietly. "They can stay." It was not a question. He looked at each of his friends, a lopsided smile fought its way onto the right side of his face.

She set her tray down a little harder than necessary, causing the myriad of potions to clink and clatter. Exhaling furiously, she popped the cork on the first one. "All right, Mr. Potter, drink up." She had a scowl on her face.

Harry didn't reply, only took the bottle from her and downed it in one go. He obediently handed her the bottle without bothering to look up at her. "I am perfectly capable of drinking these potions, Ma'am, there is no need for you to waste your valuable time watching me."

Pomfrey sighed. "I already told you, Mr. Potter, it's my job to make sure you drain these potions. What is Severus thinking, giving you something like this." She held up a square flask filled with a bright purple liquid that seemed to glow even in the waning daylight.

Harry glanced at the bottle and recognized it immediately. "I asked him to make it for me, Ma'am." He downed a vial filled with bright red liquid and took another two that had pearly white swirling fluid in them. He knocked them both back as if they were pumpkin juice, even though Ron could smell how horrid they were from his seat.

The Boy who Lived held out his hand expectantly. "Ma'am, please. I require that potion to minimize the risk of accidental discharge, it will not be safe for me to be unconscious without it. Please hand it to me."

The three Gryffindors seated around Harry all looked at him curiously, but kept their mouths shut. They could interrogate the medi-witch later.

Pomfrey handed the flask over with a defeated sigh. "Maybe if you only took half now, and half later?" she asked with no small bit of hope.

"Negative. I require a full dosage for it to be effective, and once exposed to the air it will spoil within the hour." He met Ginny's eyes. She had an unreadable expression on her face, as if watching a play unfold. He nodded, uncorked the flask and tipped it back, draining it in less than 5 seconds. No sooner had he finished than he collapsed onto his bed, his eyes still open but most definitely asleep. The flask shattered against the stone floor. With the color draining rapidly from his face and his eyes failing to close, it seemed like the Boy who Lived had just killed himself. Panic rose in Ron's chest, he jumped up from his chair and shouted, "What happened to him?!"

Madam Pomfrey reached over and closed Harry's eyes, then shut his mouth. "One three-meal potion, one muscle regenerator, two Draughts of Peace. One Draught of Living Death with twice the recommended dosage of valerian root. It's enough to kill fully grown wizards, but apparently it'll only keep him under for 24 hours. He's dead to the world until tomorrow evening, I suggest you head back to your dormitories." She pulled the clean white linens up around Harry's neck and tucked the corners in. The last vestiges of day were still flooding the room, casting an uneven and rapidly darkening light on the sleeping Gryffindor. It didn't even seem like he was breathing, the whole thing seemed surreal.

The walk back to the Gryffindor Common Room was somber. Ron just stared ahead, letting his feet lead him. Double valerian root? What sort of dreams did Harry have, that the strongest sleeping potion in the wizarding world only worked in extra-strength dosage?

He thought back to the incident in their dorm room, the look in his dark green eyes as he stared blankly out into nothingness. Shivering involuntarily, he reminded himself that he really didn't want to know anything about the dreams that Harry had.

Hermione was much more curious than he was. "What do you suppose he was dreaming about?" She asked innocently.

Ron shook his head. "You don't want to know, 'Mione. Trust me on that one."

"Do you know something about them, Ron?" She wouldn't let it go. It was one of the things he loved most about her, the sheer tenacity she showed in the face of an obstacle.

"You remember when I told you about when I was little, when I wanted to be an Auror? Well, I pestered my dad into taking me to Azkaban with him to check up on an inmate. I've never whined so hard in all my life." He chuckled a little, but quickly sobered up. "So we get there, I can feel the dementors around me, but I'm chewing on a chocolate bar so it doesn't affect me too much, yeah? We get to the room with this inmate, Dad says, "Hello, Peter."

This little squat of a man with a pointed nose and black, beady eyes turns his head and just looks at us... But he wasn't looking at us, you know? He was staring right through us, like we weren't even there. Like HE wasn't even there. I don't know how to describe it, but looking at this man gave me nightmares. The way he stared..."

Ron was staring determinedly ahead, Hermione was listening in rapt attention and Ginny was more than a little shocked. This was the first she'd ever heard of this trip, and he was her brother. It must have really affected him.

He continued as the turned a corner, thankful that nobody was out in the hallway. "It's like his nightmares were as real as me and Dad. Like death itself was standing behind us, waiting to claim him. There was nothing in those eyes at all, no hope or laughter, no anger, not even a hint of despair. Just nothing, like he was hollow inside. It was terrifying to imagine what could do that to a man."

Hermione reached up and put a hand on his shoulder gently. "But Ron, you're not making any sense. What does this have to do with Harry?"

Ron covered her hand with his own reassuringly. "Earlier today when I went up to find him, he was in the dorm sitting against his bed. He was asleep, but the bed and even the wall behind him were burning. The four-poster was in cinders! It was just like that day in transfiguration, when Harry made those spikes in the hallway and that heat hit us? Only this was way worse. The whole room felt like it was going to melt, the stones behind him were already glowing red hot. Stones, Hermione!

"I woke him up, and he looked at me..." his eyes were getting moist. "He had that same look, like whatever he was dreaming about wasn't a nightmare at all. I said his name and he looked at me and I decided that whatever was in his head, I didn't want to know about it. He's seen things, guys, terrible things. The sort of things that would make you want to curl up in a ball and never close your eyes again."

Ron stopped, turning to look seriously at his sister and his girlfriend. His eyes seemed haunted. "You might think differently, but please just trust me when I say that you don't want to know what he was dreaming about."

Hermione nodded silently, Ginny just looked at her older brother. Ron was usually so easygoing and happy, but right now he looked so old and tired. It was like seeing a totally different person. Was this what Harry looked like on a mission, so old and experienced; his bottomless green eyes containing unknown horrors? Perhaps she didn't know Harry as well as she had hoped. She promised to rectify that as soon as possible.

* * *

Later that night, a different kind of promise was made. Draco Malfoy was wrapped almost entirely in bandages, and his two goons had gotten off lucky in being stunned early on. His face and ribcage were brutally beaten, two of his fingers were broken, his jaw and shoulder were dislocated and his groin was swelling from repeated kicks. Staring up at the ceiling and unable to look anywhere else, the grey-eyed boy willed his fury to subside. This called for more than mere anger. This called for discipline and carefully-laid plans.

A Malfoy never forgets. The family motto. Any harm or help would be forever remembered. He didn't have his father's resources or connections, but he did have his inheritance: money and articles of political leverage. Every piece of potential blackmailing material that Lucius kept was still inside Malfoy Manor, hidden inside of a portrait of his grandmother. The mad old cow in the picture was obstinate, but Draco would find a way around her during Winter Holiday. It never paid to be rash when planning, never hurt to push the execution of a plan back a week for any reason at all.

He was never top of the class material, but he was cunning and intelligent in his own way. When he was 4, his Italian teacher taught him a phrase that he would find truth in. _La vendetta è un piatto che va servito freddo_. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Draco was many things, but above all he was patient. He would have revenge on Harry for humiliating him, on Ginny for spurning him, and on Ron for the most recent of his beatings. His eyes narrowed as he began to brainstorm a suitable revenge.

He was, after all, a Malfoy. It was time he started living up to the family name.


	9. A Turn of the Key

_Disclaimer in chapter 1._

"Fate is a doorway that opens with a single key. This key, in turn, can unleash unspeakable horrors."

onoM

Chapter IX: A Turn of the Key

**MULTI-NATIONAL FORCE SLAUGHTERED, MYSTERY MAN SLAYS NUNDU SINGLE-HANDEDLY!**

Last week was a time of great trials for residents of the Greater Chalbi Desert in Kenya. Sources within the Kenyan Ministry of Information confirmed yesterday that they sent out a distress call to several of their closest allies to help deal with a creature that is considered by many experts to be the most dangerous beast in existence. A Multi-National Wizarding Force was assembled to deal with the threat.

Preliminary estimates suggest that more than 200 wizards from at least 8 different countries were involved in the effort. It is unknown at this time if any of our own Aurors were sent, but judging by the Ministry presence in the successful raid last Friday night, it is rather unlikely that they had Aurors to spare.

Recent figures put the civilian death toll at 1127 dead, 4250 still unaccounted for. Although it has not been confirmed by Kenyan sources, it is widely accepted that the entire Multi-National Wizarding Force was massacred, save a single wizard. When asked about this, Commander Nasawi Mgumbira of the Kenyan Wizarding Army had only this to say, "The _Kakawana_ is a great man. I cannot tell you any more than that." _Kakawana_, I have been informed, translates roughly to, 'strongest of men'. No further comments were made about the identity of the mystery wizard.

This reporter is not in the habit of rumor-mongering, but I'm certain I am not alone in wondering: If 200 wizards tried and failed, just what sort of man could accomplish such a feat alone?

In an effort to give credit where it is due, the Daily Prophet will pay 500 galleons to any witch or wizard with new information on the name or home country of this mysterious figure. Please owl your information and full name to the Daily Prophet, Research Division.

Ginny dropped the paper back onto the Gryffindor Table, not caring that the edge of it was dipping into her oatmeal. Death toll in the thousands? Ginny had never heard of a Nundu before, but it sounded terrifying. "Hermione, what's a Nundu?" She passed the slightly soiled paper to her 6th year friend.

"This is impossible." The bushy-haired Gryffindor said, her eyes going wide. "The Nundu is a mythical beast. It's a huge leopard that is completely silent when it moves. Its breath can wipe out entire villages in a matter of minutes. There isn't another creature alive as dangerous, and they're telling us that a single wizard killed it? Bollocks."

Hermione tossed the paper down the table with a snort, then her eyes grew thoughtful. Ron watched her with no small measure of interest. He'd read the story first, after all. Hermione leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered with a gleam of pride. "It was Harry!"

Ginny laughed at the notion. "Oh come off it, there's no way something like that..." The idea, impossible as it seemed only moments ago, had taken hold in her mind. Harry was conspicuously absent last week, which coincided with what the Daily Prophet said. She knew that Harry was an incredibly competent wizard, although that much was obvious from the beginning. Her faith in his abilities was bolstered considerably when he rescued her from a mansion filled with gun-wielding muggles. But this...

This was too much. Harry was released from the Hospital Wing just last night, he refused to tell Ron where he was or what he was doing. All he would say is that it was still classified. Was it possible, could Harry be the man in the article?

500 galleons was a lot of money, to be sure, and she offhandedly wondered what she'd do with that much money. Her dad made quite a sum, being the Minister of Magic had a few perks, but 500 galleons was a lot of money. It was almost as much as her dad took home in a month. She dismissed the idea from her head. That would mean betraying the trust he put in all of them, and she couldn't bear the thought of it. But would other students keep his trust as well?

Right on time, the Boy who Lived came in from his morning workout. He was dry, but a white outline of salt from his sweat was visible on his black shirt. He sat down in his usual spot next to Ginny and his enormous breakfast appeared in front of him. He began shoveling it without even a hello.

Ginny and Hermione stared at him levelly until he came up for air. "Good morning, Hermione, Ginny. Did you both obtain an adequate amount of sleep last night?"

"Yes." They answered together, shaking their heads. They had tried to teach him how to start a conversation, but he was still patently terrible at it.

Harry was not a great conversationalist, but he could tell perhaps better than anyone when someone was hiding something. "What's wrong?" he asked, all business.

Ginny spoke up, "Just reading the paper, that's all. Everything is just fine."

He didn't buy it, but he also knew not to pry. Sooner or later, the truth would come out. He'd only been given a temporary clean bill of health from Madam Pomfrey, but 'light flying' was allowed. Perfect for what he had in mind. "Ginny, are you free this afternoon?"

The youngest Weasley's pulse quickened. _Is he trying to make up for last Saturday, or maybe he wants to walk around the lake or take a quick trip to the astronomy tower_... Shaking her head again to clear her mind of that particularly dangerous train of thought, she answered, "Yes, totally free, nothing at all to do!" She hoped she didn't sound too excited, but she really couldn't help it.

"I will be attending Quidditch practice for the first time tonight. I still do not understand how to be a useful element of our Quidditch team. Could you teach me what you know of secondary Seeker duties, and how best to perform them?"

Ginny visibly deflated. Of course. She couldn't expect him to change overnight, though there was some very visible progress made in the last few weeks. "Sure, Harry. I'd love to teach you. My last lesson ends at noon, and Quidditch practice doesn't start until..."

"7 o'clock." Ron supplied with a small smile. "Sharp."

"Right. 7 o'clock. So that's quite a bit of time, isn't it. I'm sure you'll get the gist of it by then." Ginny finished brightly, trying to suppress both a blush and the urge to beat her brother into submission as she smiled weakly at the Boy who Lived.

"Good. Will we be having lunch here first?" Harry inquired.

Ginny wasn't quite certain what caused her sudden boost of confidence, but she straightened up a little in her seat and said, "No, actually. I think I'll bring some food out there for us. Let's meet on the pitch at 12:30. And could you do something for me?" A blush fought its way onto her cheeks. She repressed it violently.

Harry nodded. "Of course, Ginny."

Summoning up her courage, she said meekly, "After practice, could you resize a few of my outfits? I had the idea a while ago but everything seemed to be getting in the way, and you did a really good job that one time and I just thought maybe if you wanted to you could-"

"Ginny, you're rambling." Hermione interjected with a suppressed giggle. The red-haired girl's face turned scarlet.

"That would be an acceptable trade. Thank you, Ginny." Without further preamble, he went back to shoveling food into the bottomless pit that was his mouth.

Ginny sighed in defeat, picking up her fork again. _Cheers_. She thought morosely. _A picnic with a vacuum cleaner_. _I'd better bring two baskets_. Watching Harry devour what appeared to be an entire pig made of bacon in about three seconds, she mentally appended, _Make that three._

* * *

Ginny was sore. Every muscle in her body was aching, she was still weak even a full hour afterwards. Nothing she had ever found could alleviate this particularly nasty ache, nor could any other culprit be named. No, this kind of soreness could only come from one thing: Quidditch.

Ron must have been too excited to finally have Harry there, that he forgot the rest of the

m were just regular people. Harry, strangely, was riding on one of the school brooms, a Comet 260 from the looks of it. Regardless, Ron ran the whole team into the ground, doing laps and sprints and drills for a solid three hours without a single break. Even Harry was sweating heavily by the end of it, and that was saying something. It was by far the toughest practice she'd ever had, even worse than taskmaster Wood, who was widely accepted to be the most demanding Quidditch Captain that Gryffindor had ever had, ever. Thankfully, he graduated several years ago. Then came Captain Johnson, who was slightly more emotional but every bit as dedicated as Captain Wood, and now there was Captain Weasley. Wood was a girl scout compared to her brother today.

She couldn't collapse on her bed just yet, though, because Harry Potter was currently occupying it. Ginny had lost track of how many outfits she'd changed into so he could resize them, but the process was remarkably quick on his end. She would put something on in the bathroom and come out, he'd just run a finger along the seam and the cloth would tighten and loosen in all the right places. She was immensely pleased with the results, and it had nothing to do with the electric shock that his touch consistently sent up her spine. _No, nothing to do with that_. She thought obdurately.

She could lie to herself if she damn well pleased.

After a grueling session of her just standing there while he ran his fingers along the seams of her clothes, she threw modesty out on its arse and collapsed onto her bed next to the Boy who Lived. The impact made her emit a low groan as her muscles protested the harsh treatment. At least none of her roommates were present, a fact that didn't puzzle her too much. They usually came up to bed late, for the simple reason that their active 'social' lives involved breaking curfew and broom closets. The dirty slags.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Harry sounded concerned. She was getting better at picking up the incredibly subtle inflections that managed to make their way into his speech patterns.

Ginny buried her face in her pillow and shook her head weakly. "My whole body hurts. Even my face hurts, that's a first for me. I'm going to hurt my brother as soon as I can move again." She whimpered pitifully into the silk coverlet of her favorite pillow. "Do you have a charm that will knock me out, or something? I'm never going to get to sleep at this rate..."

Without another word, Harry sat up, rolled and swung his knee over Ginny's prone form. He was straddling her lower back now, and she fought the urge to ask him what exactly he thought he was doing up there. She'd have her answer soon enough, and then she could decide whether or not to kill him for it. Well, maybe not kill. She'd certainly try, though, even if the effort consisted of beating her fists uselessly on his well-toned chest and screaming expletives at the top of her lungs. It was the thought that counted, right?

"Try to relax, Ginny." He told her as he tentatively placed his hands on either side of her spine. After a particularly rigorous day of training, Sirius would often bring in a massage therapist to push the excess lactic acid out of his muscles so his performance wouldn't suffer the next day. Perhaps he could keep her from feeling awful tomorrow morning.

After a long moment, Ginny felt Harry's fingers slowly rubbing the aching muscles in her back through the cloth of her tank top. She buried her face further in her pillow to keep him from seeing how red she was. They were on her bed, he was on top of her and giving her a back massage like it was the most natural thing in the world. That, and he seemed to know what exactly he thought he was doing up there. Oh, if her roommates came in right now she'd murder them in their sleep!

Leaning forward, Harry worked light circles on each side of her spine, careful not to push directly on the spine itself. You couldn't just start digging into a person's back without a warm-up, it would only make the muscles hurt worse in the morning. She was very tense, her muscles still felt like they were flexing.

After working circles along the entire length of her spine he began kneading her shoulders slowly. Ginny moaned softly into her pillow as he gradually worked the tension out of her. Delicious warmth was spreading through her as his hands danced over her back, and it felt almost impossibly good. There was no pain at all, just an encompassing heat that seemed to envelop her.

Whenever Harry got a massage, it had always been on bare skin. The traction was better, more warmth was transferred through the hands and you could pinpoint problem areas with more certainty when you didn't have one or more layers of cloth in the way. Her muscles were warm enough now to start digging a little deeper, and it really wasn't possible with that tank top in the way...

Ginny surprised herself by not screaming when her top mysteriously vanished. One moment it was there, the next moment it simply wasn't. She was wearing her night clothes already, so there was literally nothing between her and Harry's hands but air. Her face felt like it was on fire. She couldn't really do anything without exposing herself, so she bit back a few choice swear words and lay there limply. There was no justifiable explanation to why he seemed this dense. It wasn't humanly possible for him to not understand that you just didn't do things like this without asking! She might have said yes, but that was hardly the point!

On the other side, the feeling was incredible. His fingers were digging even further into her muscles, working out tension she didn't even realize she had until it was gone. She was breathing easier than she had in months, probably even years. Was she really that tense? His hands were quite rough, but he was so gentle that it never became abrasive. The warmth turned into a pleasant fire tracing alongside her spine as he kneaded, rolled and knuckled.

It was a good thing she was wearing shorts, because he worked her legs next. It felt wonderful, like she was in the middle of a long, hot bath. She could feel herself drifting away, getting lost in the pleasant weight and warmth of the Boy who Lived as his hands worked their magic on her sore body. _Alright, I won't kill him_._ But next time, I've got to tell him not to just vanish my top like that_._ I'm a woman, for Merlin's sake_...

He worked her arms next and finished with her neck, the small supporting muscles that ran the length of it were as solid as iron bars when he started. By the time he worked the knots out of her neck she had fallen asleep. Her breathing was slow and steady, the bare skin of her back was smooth and dotted with freckles in the low light. It seemed like every inch of her had at least a few freckles on it, it brought a small smile to his face. A real one, with nothing forced. There was nobody there to smile at, but he smiled all the same. It served no purpose at all, and he had to admit that it felt pretty damn good. He slowly eased off of her and folded the covers over her sleeping form. Pulling the curtains shut around her, he made his way to the room entrance.

"Goodnight, Ginny." He whispered as he disillusioned himself and unlocked the door, padding silently through the common room and back up to his own dormitory. It wasn't a mission, but he felt a powerful sense of fulfillment nonetheless. Ron was fast asleep, so he walked over to the vacant spot where his bed was before he burned it to cinders and cancelled his disillusionment charm. He sat down with his back against the blackened, slightly melted stone and went to sleep, the smile still etched on his face.

* * *

"Sirius, I need another broom." Harry told the disembodied head floating in Dumbledore's fireplace.

His Godfather shook his head with a chuckle, "What happened this time?"

"A Nundu ate it, sir. I need it by this Friday night, our first match is on Saturday." He replied.

Sirius raised his eyebrows questioningly. "A Nundu ate it, eh. If you were anyone else, I'd have you committed to St. Mungo's for saying something like that. Well, Mr. Potter, I take it you were on the broom up until this event?"

The Boy who Lived nodded. "Affirmative."

The last full of the house of Black let out a long-suffering sigh. "Listen, Harry. Any time you want to stop going on missions, all you have to do is say the word. I'll have you off the active duty roster in thirty seconds flat. You don't have to keep risking your life like this. I daresay you've earned the right to do whatever you want."

Harry shook his head. "This is what I want, Sirius. I can't just let go, I can't quit. I don't know how to explain it, but I need this job. I need these missions. More than that, I need that broom by Friday night at the latest."

"But Harry-" whatever Sirius was about to say was cut off as the green-eyed Gryffindor ended the firecall. _I'm sorry Sirius, but I just can't give it up_. He descended the spiral staircase and thanked Albus for the use of his fireplace, then headed off to lunch. His friends were waiting.

* * *

Ron was getting a little unbearable, the first Quidditch match of the season was looming on the horizon and he busied himself creating ridiculously complex but tactically brilliant plays for the chasers. There was no chance that the chasers would know the plays well enough to perform them during this game, but they humored him anyway. Their team was still one of the best at Hogwarts, even though two of their chasers and both beaters graduated last year. They still had Katie Bell, they still had Ginny and Ron Weasley. Only now, they had Harry Potter too. Even on a school broom, he managed to impress Ron. He was so singularly focused on his task that Ron started telling everyone to 'act a little more like Harry, will you?!'

* * *

The Gryffindor Quidditch team, tired but not yet defeated, trudged into the Common Room with varying levels of relief. The game was in two days, and Captain Weasley never worked them hard right before a match. "Great practice, everyone. Honestly, if you play half as well as you practice we've got the Cup in our hands already. Get some rest." They nodded tiredly, trudging up the stairs towards their soft, warm beds with a single-minded tenacity. Sleep, that fickle mistress, was the last thing on his mind as he scanned the Common Room for his girlfriend. He hadn't had a single moment alone with her since the beginning of the week, and it was starting to get to him. The Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team woke up this morning hugging his body-length pillow, for Merlin's sake, and that was where Ronald Bilius Weasley drew the line.

He found her, as he always did, in the library. She was buried in books, sitting in her favorite spot between the window and the transfiguration section. He snuck up behind her, as was his ill-fated custom, the route so ingrained in his memory that he could have done it in his sleep. Not that it mattered, Hermione could hear a mouse sneezing in her sleep. In his entire Hogwarts career, he'd never managed to sneak up on the bushy-haired Gryffindor. He stepped carefully over the creaky board that extended out of the charms aisle, nearing his quarry...

"You know, Ron, you're never going to make it all the way to my chair when you go crashing about like that. It's a wonder Madam Pince hasn't banned you from the library entirely." Hermione said, without looking up. He could almost _hear_ the smirk on her face.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Ron dragged himself over to her table and threw himself into the chair next to her, folding his arms huffily. "I almost had you that time." He scowled unconvincingly.

This time she did look up, shooting him that special smile she saved just for him, something halfway between a superior smirk and a genuinely appreciative grin. It was one of the things he loved most about her, but the list was already miles long and getting bigger every day.

"Yes, of course you did, dear." She dipped her quill and for a long while the only sound was her deft, precise scratching. Ron didn't mind, he never did. He could (and did, on many occasions) watch her work for hours on end and never grow tired of it. He turned his chair slightly so he could look at her without getting a crick in his neck. When she was searching for the right word to use in a sentence, she would bite just the corner of her lip, always on the right side. When she didn't know how to end a paragraph, she would furrow her brow and squint slightly. When she tucked her hair behind her ear, it meant she had just written something that she was proud of. It was almost pitiful, how utterly captivated he was by this bushy-haired Gryffindor.

With a flourish, she dried her quill and tapped the most recent of her parchments with her wand, instantly drying the ink. Rolling up her homework, she flicked her wand at each of the books in turn. The mountain of tomes picked itself apart as countless volumes closed and began to saunter off towards their own respective shelves. It was a mass exodus, repeated on a near-nightly basis. "I've told you countless times that you don't have to watch me do my homework, in case you've forgotten." She said with a long-suffering yawn, arching her back and stretching in what he considered a very provocative way.

"And in case you've forgotten, I've told you that I love to watch you work." He leaned towards her and kissed her on the cheek, embracing her tightly from the side. "Countless times."

Hermione giggled softly. "Stop it, Ron, you'll make me blush." She batted at his arms, not really putting up any resistance.

"Good. You're even cuter when your cheeks are pink." He responded, nuzzling the base of her neck.

She let out a soft sigh, inclining her head to give him better access. "Honestly, Ron, we're in the library. What if Madam Pince catches us?" Her voice and her body were telling conflicting stories, and he knew from vast experience which one couldn't tell a lie.

"Then I'll stun the nosey bint. Serves her right, barging in on us like that..." He loved the smell of her, a mix of cinnamon and vanilla. With practiced ease, he planted small, tender kisses along her collarbone and up the side of her neck, catching the corner of her mouth.

"We should go somewhere a little more... private. And I should clean up a little. I smell like dusty books." She whispered against him, her arms encircling his broad shoulders. Her hands snaked into his wavy ginger hair, pulling him into a deep kiss.

"Alright, 'Mione. But let it be known that I love the smell of dusty books." A little breathless, and more than a little reluctant, he let go of her and gathered her things. He hefted her backpack easily. Odd, it seemed heavier last time he carried it. Much heavier. "Guess."

"6th floor, in that dark alcove just off the south staircase." Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Spot on! I knew there was a reason I kept you around." He broke into a broad grin, catching her hand and entwining his fingers with hers as they made their way up to the tower.

* * *

A good while later, Ron was sitting up with his back against the granite wall and Hermione was in turn sitting between his legs with her back against his chest. She was small enough that he could completely surround her; it was how they usually sat after a rather heated snog. It had been quite a while since they'd been to the 6th floor.

With a small smile, he looked over at the far corner of the alcove. It was where she took him after their first Hogsmeade date. It had been an intensely awkward situation, when she asked him when he was going to take her on a date, or even out for a snog. He had been rather clueless, since she was his first girlfriend. He couldn't be expected to ask Fred and George, or Merlin forbid, Percy for advice on this sort of thing, could he? Her forwardness at the time still amazed him.

His chin rested on her shoulder, and when he spoke the warm breath on her ear caused a tremor to run up her spine. "Do you remember the first time we met, 'Mione?" He turned his head slightly, burying his face in her hair and kissing her neck softly.

"Of course I do, Ron. What brought this up?" She found his hand and grasped it firmly, encouraging him to speak his mind.

Ron smiled wistfully, kissing her knuckles as she held his hand. "Just reminiscing, that's all. Hogwarts Express, first year. I was a scared little boy, and it didn't help that Fred and George told me that I'd have to fight a troll during the sorting ceremony. Never mind the fact that we _did_ fight a troll that year, how's that for irony. Faded, 3rd generation hand-me-down robes, a broken wand held together with at least half a roll of spell-o-tape...

"I can still remember going through each of the compartments, some half empty, and hearing again and again that they were full up. It seemed like I wasn't good enough to be around people like them. So I found an empty compartment and spent a rather long time thinking that this was a glimpse of the year to come, sitting alone while everyone else had fun with their friends.

"And then you came in, looking for Neville's toad. 'Haven't seen it', I mumbled." Ron recited with a grin.

Hermione said in a slightly higher-pitched voice, "You've got dirt on your nose, just there. Did you know?"

Ron nodded, adding, "And then you made to leave, and I don't know what possessed me but I couldn't let you walk out like that. I mean, nobody else wanted to talk to me and you didn't seem to notice that I had less money than Merlin's ghost. Didn't notice or didn't care, but I wasn't picky. I just couldn't sit alone in that damned compartment anymore."

"Oh I noticed, but I had never seen so many wizards my age. I suppose I was a little overwhelmed with it all..." Hermione trailed off, smiling at old memories.

"Well, being the beacon of chivalry that I am," Ron declared pompously, "I couldn't let a woman go alone on her dangerous quest to seek out and bring to justice the bloodthirsty fiend known as Trevor!"

Hermione playfully hit Ron on the shoulder and articulated flatly, "Because Trevor was such a menace, wasn't he."

Ron nodded sagely into the back of her neck, "I don't think you could have survived the encounter with all of your limbs intact. He was a biter!"

Hermione snorted.


	10. The Door Opens

_Disclaimer in chapter 1._

Chapter X: The Door Opens.

The Boy who Lived had been gathering intel on the Slytherins for the last week, hoping to discern their tactics and find weaknesses that he could exploit. He even moved his workout to the nighttime, directly after their Quidditch practice. There was something inherently comfortable about laying on the roof of the school, covered in his invisibility cloak and watching the Slytherin practice through his modified omnioculars. He spent most of his nights reading through various Quidditch books, looking for loopholes in the rules that he could exploit if an opportunity arose.

There was no such thing as bad intelligence, Harry had been instructed. There was false intelligence, there was mundane intelligence and there was pointless intelligence, but all were usable under the right circumstances. A false rumor, once verified as false, had the potential to mislead their enemies. Mundane intelligence could be used during interrogations, mostly to give the interrogator an aura of omniscience. Why not tell him something that you believe he already knows? Pointless intelligence was simply stored away, and Harry was assured that if ever there was a use for pointless intelligence, he would know when the moment came.

The Slytherin beaters, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, only covered two of the chasers during practices. Perhaps they had been at odds with the third chaser, a tall and lanky boy with sandy blonde hair and a permanent sneer on his face. His name was Julian Vaisey. Usable. The keeper did not appear to like any of his teammates with the notable exception of the lead chaser, Christopher Warrington. Pointless. Mr. Warrington was easily the best chaser on the team in terms of skill and speed, and he seemed to enjoy taking the quaffle from one end of the pitch to the other by himself. He had dropped the quaffle on several occasions, rather than passing it to an open teammate. Usable. The Slytherin keeper blocked nearly 80 per cent of shots taken on average, with the notable exception of shots from the lower right. His blocked shot percentage dropped to around 30 per cent at that angle. Usable. Slytherin had only one reserve chaser, and he spent all of his practice time snogging his girlfriend in the stands. Usable.

He had already disseminated his findings to his own team, who were hesitant at first to use the information for their own gain. It felt too much like cheating for their tastes. Harry assured them that it was not illegal, he had read over every single applicable rule and there was nothing in it about spying on their practices. Nothing they would do on the field would be against the rules, exactly. Harry had this to say on the subject: "This is Quidditch. Our Captain has repeatedly told us that the objective of this game is to win by any legal means, and I intend to follow orders." A few strange glances were shot at him, but nobody wanted to disagree with the Boy who Lived.

The crowd cheered as the Gryffindor team made its way onto the field, flying low and then circling the pitch in usual fashion. The rivalry between their team and Slytherin was legendary, and nearly every student in the school was in the stands for this game.

Harry flew out last, right behind Ron. His blood cooled as he joined formation and completed their customary pre-game victory lap, preparing for their kickoff. Familiar faces stood out in the crowd, they were all cheering for his team, and for him. It was disconcerting.

He had never flown competitively like this, and he'd only ever had matches with his own team mates. It was time to see if all his preparation would pay off.

"And they're off!!" The commentator shouted as Madam Hooch tossed the Quaffle skyward. Almost immediately after the kickoff, a well-aimed bludger sailed towards Julian Vaisley as he sped towards the quaffle. It caught him square in the back, knocking him sideways on his broom and causing all but the Slytherin stands to cheer loudly. As expected, the beaters were unwilling to protect him from the iron balls.

Ron whooped as his sister flew in low and scored the first goal for Gryffindor. No sooner had the goal been announced then two bludgers simultaneously smashed into Vaisley, knocking him out and sending him falling slowly towards the ground. The Slytherin beaters actually smirked at this, as if Gryffindor did them a favor just then. The stands were in an uproar. The reserve chaser for Slytherin came out, his eyes wide with fear. He was not expecting to play today. Good.

"And it looks like the reserve chaser has to take the field for Slytherin. It's almost unheard of, to see them replacing a player before the other team..." The voice rang out over the pitch as the reserve player flew up to the rest of his team.

"Warrington has the quaffle, he's racing down the pitch towards the Gryffindor keeper..." The chasers were in a sloppy hawkshead, great for quick passes between the chasers. The beaters zeroed in on Warrington, however, and when a bludger sailed towards his face he performed a sloth-grip roll and lost the quaffle in the process.

"And he loses it! Picked up by Gryffindor's Katie Bell, passed to Demelza Robins... The shot... 10 points for Gryffindor!"

Harry had not caught sight of the snitch yet, instead he followed Draco Malfoy around as he searched for the snitch in a messy diamond search pattern. He led Harry on a short game of chase, but quickly tired of it as Harry had a far superior broom and more experience with tailing someone.

As Gryffindor scored yet again against an increasingly frustrated keeper, the Slytherin beaters took the opportunity to fire two bludgers at Ron. The first one missed entirely, but the second one hit his left arm as Warrington tossed the quaffle through the left hoop. Harry was sure he saw his Captain's shoulder dislocate, but Ron didn't even grunt in pain. He rolled with his one good arm to keep from spinning out of control and glared at his two beaters, who shrugged sheepishly.

"10 points for Slytherin, and a solid hit on the Gryffindor keeper! He just shrugs it off, as usual. It'll take more than a few bludgers to keep Ron Weasley away from his hoops!" The commentator shamelessly cheered on his favored team.

After two more quaffles got past their Keeper, the Slytherin chasers formed up and rushed towards the Gryffindor goals, Warrington trailing with the quaffle in hand. They looked angry. Harry banked sharply away from the other Seeker and raced after the chasers towards the hoops.

"Has Potter seen the snitch?!" The commentator shouted as the commotion built to a dull roar. The Gryffindor spectators stood as one and cheered.

The three Slytherin chasers closed in on Ron, led by the reserve chaser, who rammed straight into the Gryffindor Keeper mercilessly. The second chaser closed in on a clear collision course. A bludger sailed towards Warrington, who performed a textbook sloth grip roll to avoid it. "Oooh, and Weasley is hit hard!"

Harry's mind was a blur of inner monologue and scenarios. Ron was going to be put out of action, leaving the hoops open. He was also the Captain, and only the Captain could call a time out. Gryffindor would be slaughtered with no Keeper... He had found a suitable loophole in the Quidditch rulebook, but would Madam Hooch let it slide? There was only one way to find out.

Mere moments after his failed shot on Warrington, Andrew Kirke's bat was rather violently ripped from his hand by his own Seeker.

Harry tore downward, beater's bat in hand, and reached the recently pounded bludger just as the second Slytherin chaser rammed into Ron. The crowd winced as Ron fell gracelessly from his broom and began his slow, unconscious ascent to the pitch. The hoops were now wide open for Warrington, who nearly clipped Katie Bell as he flew around her towards the goalposts.

With a measured swing, the Boy who Lived sent the bludger flying in exactly the wrong direction. The iron ball was now on a collision course with the Slytherin stands. Several frightened cries rang out as Madam Hooch flew towards impending chaos with her wand extended. She blew her whistle to signal a time out only moments before Warrington sent the Quaffle neatly through the unguarded hoops. A smile tugged at the corners of Harry's mouth as both teams flew towards the ground, thoroughly confused. The bludger crashed into the Slytherin stands, sending splinters in every direction as Madam Hooch got control of the misguided ball.

Ron hit the ground gracelessly, but slow enough that he wouldn't be damaged. Madam Hooch flew towards the ground with a darkened, angry expression on her face. She landed straight in front of Harry and pointed at him with the bludger. "Mister Potter! I expected foul play from the Slytherins, but never in my life have I seen a more blatant display of bumphing!"

Harry shook his head seriously. Never break the rules when you can get away with bending them. "Negative. Bumphing applies only to beaters who purposefully hit their bludger into the crowd. I am a seeker."

Madam Hooch's mouth, which had most likely been on the verge of spewing some rather choice epithets, hung open for a moment before she could regain her composure. He chose that moment to make the journey to his fallen friend. Warrington shouted something unintelligible as the Boy who Lived spun and ran over to the unconscious Gryffindor Keeper.

After several hearty slaps and a quick shake, Ron woke with a start. He sat bolt upright and practically shouted, "Bloody wankers, what happened? Did we lose?!" His voice tinged on panic as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his Quidditch robes. He was still favoring his dislocated shoulder.

"Negative. A time out was called before points were scored. Let me set that dislocation." Harry said in a monotone. "We don't have much time."

Ron nodded, gritting his teeth in preparation; the Boy who Lived grabbed his arm and quickly jerked down. A wet popping sound accompanied the muted yell that the Gryffindor Captain made. With a quick charm from Harry, Ron felt the pain and tension in his shoulder ebb to almost nothing.

"That's all I can do on such short notice. Here is your broom." Harry wandlessly summoned Ron's broom and handed it to him. Grabbing hold of his friend, he hoisted him to a standing position and performed a wandless cheering charm.

Ron brightened up considerably, but still had questions, "How-"

Harry cut him off before he could start. "We still have a game to win. Don't lose consciousness this time." He nodded and made his way back to Madam Hooch, who was involved in a rather heated argument with the Slytherin Captain.

"You can't be serious! You saw him deliberately hit that bludger into the stands, you called a time out and cost us ten points, and now you're saying that he's getting away with it? I don't care if he's Merlin, you can't give him any special treatment on the pitch!" Warrington spat, his brow furrowed angrily.

Madam Hooch looked on the verge of stunning all parties involved. "It's not special treatment! Technically, though I'd rather he was ejected from the game, Mister Potter didn't break any rules! Now get back on your brooms, all of you, before I call this game off!"

Harry was already in the air, searching for the snitch when Madam Hooch blew her whistle again, signaling play to continue. Malfoy trailed him uncertainly, his neck bending in odd directions as he searched frantically for the golden snitch.

The Boy who Lived spotted it first, glittering as it spun lazy circles around the Slytherin goalposts. Malfoy was in the way, so he immediately dived under him and raced towards his quarry. He had the snitch in his hand before Malfoy had closed half the distance, and the roar of hundreds of cheering students filled the air. "Potter got the snitch! Potter caught the golden snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

Before being swept away by his teammates, he glanced at the scoreboard. Gryffindor 190, Slytherin 10.

* * *

An arm draped over the shoulders of the Boy who Lived. "You know Harry, I heard about how you got that time out. Probably saved the game! I thought the Slytherins had underhanded tricks, but you're on a whole different level, mate! Good to have you on the team, real good." Ron was flushed and laughing, trying to form the words properly as he hung on Harry to keep from falling. His butterbeer addiction seemed to be getting the better of him tonight.

Harry nodded. "You instructed us to win without breaking the rules. I am just glad I was able to perform my duties satisfactorily."

Squinting, Ron poked him in the chest and said, "Wha? I see your mouth moving, but I can't hear any sound coming out..." With a final poke, Ron went limp. Harry caught him quickly and laid him down on the couch next to Hermione, who let out an exasperated sigh.

"Performing your duties satisfactorily, Harry? Honestly, you sound like you're reading a script sometimes." The bushy-haired Gryffindor patted the seat between her and Ron's feet, inviting him to sit.

He nodded in compliance and sat rigidly. "A script? Please clarify your meaning."

Hermione giggled, setting down the butterbeer she'd been nursing for the last half hour. "I mean it shouldn't be a duty, that's all. You should play because you like to play, not because someone tells you to." She peered at him over the brown bottle. "Don't you do anything just for the fun of it?"

Harry thought for a moment. He'd never had the luxury of free time, exactly. It was training, eating or sleeping ever since he could remember. He liked to fly when he couldn't sleep; it helped to calm him down. It was always training, though. It was always about personal boundaries to power through, barriers to break, always pushing forward, always improving himself. For some reason, the question frustrated him. Did he really do anything just for fun? Did he even know what it meant to have fun? For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt as if he'd missed out on something vital during his years of endless training.

He violently repressed that train of thought. Why was wasting time so important to these noncoms? Improving himself was necessary; every moment wasted was another moment his enemies gained. He needed to be in top form, every minute of every day. His life depended on it.

"I don't know, Hermione." He answered, hoping it was the truth.

* * *

"Edwards, package." The far-off drone of the Postmaster was audible in Harry's dormitory. Winter holiday was only three days in and already he felt like he was slipping back into his role. He was back at base where he felt immeasurably more comfortable. Resting silently in his room after an exceptionally hard session of weights, he caught up on the latest advances in transfiguration as muscle regenerator potions coursed through his system. He was away from civilians; away from the life his Godfather had signed him up for during the summer. Already he felt sharper and stronger. Harder.

"Lewis, post. McGready, post." The 90-year-old Postmaster continued down the hall slowly, handing out the day's post. It didn't matter to Harry. In all his years living here, he'd never received post. Anything sent by owl to Harry Potter would end up in an underground room far away, where it would be systematically destroyed.

"And here's a new one. Potter, you've got post." The old man sounded genuinely surprised with that. It surprised Harry, too. The only way to get something to him was to send it to Sirius Black and ask him to send it to Harry specifically. Nobody had ever done that before now.

Harry took the letter curiously, noting the rather loopy and elegant scrawl across the front. "Thank you." He told the Postmaster as he turned the envelope over and broke the seal.

Dear Harry,

How is your winter break going? It's pretty boring here at the Burrow. My dad and mum want to know if you and your Godfather would like to come over for dinner on the 24th. If you don't want to, it's all right. I mean, I'd like it if you came, but I don't want you to feel pressured or anything. Just think about it, okay?

Also, I don't know if you get the Daily Prophet, but there's something in it that you might want to read before you go out in public again. I'm really sorry about this, I didn't tell a soul.

Sincerely,

Ginny

Enclosed along with the letter were several pages of the Daily Prophet, including the front. There, above the fold, in bold black print were the words, "**THE NEW FACE OF JUSTICE."** Under that was a huge picture of his face, looking as stony and serious as he usually did and blinking occasionally. Where had it been taken? He couldn't see much of the background. Harry felt his stomach drop uncomfortably in his chest as he kept reading:

_First he defeated the darkest wizard since Grindelwald at the tender age of 1, and then disappeared for a decade and a half. He reappeared long enough to defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all, and then vanished into the shadows again like a phantom. Now, mere months later, he is linked to a singular act of heroism in Kenya with the defeat of the terrible Nundu. Each of these events were so incredible in and of themselves, the fact that a single wizard performed all three seems laughable. It also brings up a burning question that this reporter can't help but wonder: how many times has he stepped in to save the day, only to slip away unnoticed?_

_As members of the wizarding world, we have a responsibility and privilege to recognize and honor a hero like Harry Potter. Since his birth, he has shouldered a mantle of responsibility that would crush most adult wizards. He has thus far shouldered it silently. He has never asked us for anything in return, never once received an official reward or medal for his many triumphs._

_Harry Potter has proven time and again that he is the savior of our world, the protector of our ways and the new face of Justice. My fellow witches and wizards, it is time for us to stand as one and show our gratitude to this boy. A boy young enough to be bound by the laws of underage magic use, yet more deserving of our respect and admiration than perhaps any wizard alive today._

_For the next month, I will be accepting submissions to my column that deal with the Boy who Lived in an intimate way. If Harry Potter has touched your life personally, I want you to tell me about it in no more than 1,500 words. All witches and wizards whose submissions are printed in my column will receive 65 galleons for the use of their story. The Daily Prophet has also opened a fund in his name with Gringott's bank, as an alternate way of showing gratitude for our hero. If you wish to donate, you need only transfer the money from your account to the Harry Potter Fund._

_And to Harry Potter, if you're reading this: from the very bottom of my heart, I thank you for your noble sacrifices in the name of Justice. You are, and shall remain, my hero._

_Julia Peverell, freelance reporter._

Harry's mind was spinning. He did appreciate the reporter's gratitude, of course, but his ability to operate covertly relied entirely on his ability to remain under the radar. People knew of him, but they never knew what he was capable of and most wouldn't recognize his face in a crowd without his scar. Would this jeopardize him?

Uncertainty grew in him as his Godfather appeared in the doorway. "Harry, we've got to talk." He said, his eyes falling on the Daily Prophet in Harry's hand. "And I think you know exactly what this is about. Come with me."

Sirius' office contained the now-familiar face of Mad-Eye Moody, who squinted with his good eye at Harry when he saluted.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" They both shouted in unison. Moody chuckled and nodded. "I read your article, boy, and I think it's a shame they haven't beaten this reporter publicly yet. I'll see what my department can do about that. Sirius, I left a note in your safe for you, open it when you're alone. I'm sure I'll see you around, Harry." With a tip of his mangy leather hat, he stumped towards the floo and vanished in a flash of green flame.

Sirius sat down at his desk, muttering about how long it had taken him to set the charms around his safe. After a few minutes of shuffling papers, he buried his head in his hands and said, "You have to know that it's not your fault, Harry. We've paid the Daily Prophet a small fortune to keep your name out of their rag, nobody saw this coming..."

Harry's Godfather rambled for a long while, then shook his head and stood again. "The damage is done, all we can do now is try to contain the damage as best we can and find out who allowed this to happen. Heads are going to roll, rest assured.

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, and you've certainly told me as much, but it's too dangerous for you to be seen right now. You still have enemies; some of them are bound to be looking for you. As such, they've forced my hand. Effective immediately, you are suspended from active duty for an undefined period of time, Harry. I'm ... sorry."

Harry had his suspicions, but actually hearing the words... it was too much. He just wanted to go out and do his job like he always did, and some reporter caused the loss of the best thing he had?

Another thought filtered through his head immediately. Hogwarts was a mission. Would he be suspended from that as well? "What about-"

Sirius knew full well what he'd ask. "You will still attend Hogwarts, if you wish, though you won't be getting paid for it. I wouldn't take that away from you."

Harry left Sirius' office with a knot in his stomach that threatened to suffocate him. He needed some time to decompress.

* * *

On Christmas Eve at precisely 1800, Harry and Sirius arrived at the Burrow and knocked sharply on the worn oak door. It opened almost immediately to reveal a plump woman with a wide, warm smile on her face and a ladle in her hand. "Come in! Remus said he had some business to attend to, but he'd be coming later." She ushered them through the kitchen, which was positively scorching due to the sheer number of cooking fires, and into the living room. "Have a seat, dears, and relax. Dinner's almost ready!" With another smile, she hurried back into the kitchen to finish up.

Harry looked around curiously. This house had so much ... stuff. Clocks, antiques, pictures by the bagful, furniture, decorations, it was all rather overwhelming. Harry had a bed, a small dresser that contained 3 pairs of combat utilities, 2 civilian outfits and a small footlocker for his personal effects. He didn't have many effects, either. He had picture of his parents with his Godfather and Remus, his father's invisibility cloak, his broom, a small two-way mirror and three books. Everything he owned had its purpose, and that was the way he liked it. The Weasley's had many things that looked to be completely useless. It certainly served to clutter up the area, but there had to be another purpose that he just couldn't see yet.

Dinner was called, and a stampede of people rushed down from their rooms. Ginny was there, as were Ron and Hermione and two twin boys who looked exactly the same. An older boy with long red hair and a fang earring sat down across from him. From Ron's descriptions, this was Bill. "I've heard loads about you, of course. Good to finally shake your hand, Mr. Potter." He shook his hand firmly as plates packed full of food floated towards the table.

* * *

After an incredibly filling dinner accompanied by huge bouts of laughter and Ginny's sidelong glances, the Boy who Lived found himself sitting in a large, lumpy circle relaxing to the sound of friendly conversation. "So Harry, how've you been keeping up this holiday?" Arthur Weasley asked. His cheeks were quite flushed, indicating a moderate level of intoxication.

Harry thought for a moment. He had standing orders to keep his suspension a secret, but he couldn't exactly tell them he'd done absolutely nothing of consequence since he left Hogwarts and he couldn't lie to his superior officer... "I've been training hard, Minister."

It wasn't a lie at all; he'd been pushing himself progressively harder as each day wore into another one. He needed to keep himself exhausted to avoid thinking about the fact that he wasn't allowed to go on any missions.

The Minister of Magic laughed jovially, "No need to get all formal on me, Harry. Please, call me Arthur." He paused, lost in apparent thought. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate what you do? Especially that brilliant piece of work in the Chamber of Secrets several years back. You do have a tendency to stay out of the public eye, but I know how much you've done for this country, for the entire Wizarding World. You've saved my daughter's life twice, and I can't even publicly give you the medals you've earned... It vexes me, being unable to reward a fine gentleman like yourself. Those articles in the Daily Prophet are quite a read; it's high time you received some real recognition for your actions!" With another hearty chuckle, Mr. Weasley clapped Harry on the back. The room was deafeningly quiet; every eye was now focused on them.

Harry felt anger rising in his chest against his will. It wasn't that he was ungrateful. The Minister of Magic had every right to want to confer medals to recipients, it was in his job description after all, and he had every right to want to thank him for saving his only daughter's life. Twice. But those articles, now published every single issue, told the world about his missions. Most of them were at least partially true, and all of them expressed the author's profound gratitude, but that was hardly the point. His missions were still classified, but not even the Ministry of Magic could stop these people from disseminating top secret information. Each story was a personal account; therefore it was not covered by the statute of secrecy like his after-action reports were. The reporter who began this self-proclaimed crusade even dropped by Sirius' office to ask for permission to interview him. As if he'd give anything to a woman who may well have cost him his job, his entire life up to this point. He clenched his teeth together tightly and let the torrents of rage wash silently through him.

He couldn't say anything about why he didn't appreciate Ms. Peverell's efforts; it would draw suspicion from people without the requisite security clearance. With a heavy sigh, Harry said in a tight monotone, "Thank you, Sir."

Harry caught Ginny staring at her dad with a mortified expression on her freckled face. "Dad, I don't think now is a good time to talk about this..." She trailed off, uncertain whether she should ask him to stop or clap a hand over his mouth.

Arthur Weasley squinted at his daughter, trying to discern the reasoning behind her interruption. "Why not, Ginny?" He asked plainly.

Ginny opened her mouth to respond but shut it again, not knowing a delicate way of saying what needed to be said. She couldn't tell her father, of course, but she knew that Harry was extremely angry. She could almost FEEL the heat from his eyes as he stared at the ground. "Well... I thought you were going to bring out some dessert?" She finished feebly.

Arthur blinked blankly. "I said that? I can't recall, but I'd be more than happy to bring out some of your mother's world-famous homemade fudge!" With a short grunt as he hefted himself to his feet, the Minister of Magic shuffled happily into the kitchen to retrieve a few squares of fudge.

Molly looked at Harry sympathetically. "You look tired, dear, perhaps you'd best be getting to bed..."

Harry took the invitation to leave with a grateful nod. "Thank you for dinner, it was delicious, Ms. Weasley." He turned to his friends, "I'll see you back at school."

In a flash of green powder, the Boy who Lived was on his way back to base. Arthur came out of the kitchen followed by several floating plates of fudge. Squinting, he looked around the somber room. "Where did Harry go?"

Ginny buried her head in her hands. "Way to go, Dad..." She muttered as a dish of fudge hovered around her head, trying in vain to get her attention.

* * *

Harry appeared back at base and immediately ran to his room to retrieve his training portkey. It led to a small clearing in a forest about as far away from civilization as any place on earth. He didn't even know which country the forest was in. It was meant expressly for his training, he was the only person who had unlimited access to it. His breathing was ragged, but it wasn't from running. He was trying desperately to contain his magic, which was rushing violently through him in almost greedy anticipation.

Dropping to his knees in front of his bed, he put a hand on the ground and pulled a small metal box up through the stone where he kept it. His body was beginning to tremble from the strain of containing his rage. He'd never been this angry before, if he didn't get out of here soon he might hurt someone... He couldn't afford that.

The box dropped out of his shaking hands and broke open on the floor. Harry dove for the small metal tab and clasped his hands around it, feeling the familiar tug behind his navel.

When the trip stopped, he pushed himself up and looked around the grassy field where he'd spent countless hours practicing. Nobody was here. _Good_.

He tucked the metal tag into his pocket for safekeeping as he took deep, heaving breaths. This reporter, despite seemingly good intentions, had successfully ruined his life. Taken away the only life that Harry had ever known, everything he knew to be important. And why? He didn't have a clue, and that filled him with more fury than he'd ever known.

With a click, his limiters fell to the grass. As the world came into sharp focus, Harry braced himself and let go of the stranglehold he kept on his magic. Searing heat coursed through his veins, it was too much, too fast... He couldn't stop it...

Harry screamed as the world around him erupted.


	11. Escape and Evasion

_Disclaimer in chapter 1._

Chapter XI: Escape and Evasion

"Harry!" A muddled voice filtered through his unconscious brain, waking him from his rest. He sat up slowly, ignoring the impulses of agony being sent by his strained muscles. Blinking several times to clear his vision, he looked around for the source of the sound. Sirius Black was running towards him with a look of ... was that panic?

"Harry, thank Merlin you're alive. What happened here?" Sirius asked with an edge of dread to his voice.

Harry stood as quickly as his body would allow and surveyed the clearing. It looked like a wheat field that had been hewn raggedly with a scythe. The wood had been splintered, burned to cinders in some cases, for nearly a square mile. Not a single tree stood higher than waist-level, the dirt and grass was gouged and torn as if huge claws had raked through. Grey smoke still rose from recently burned out ashes, creating a hazy fog that caught the ambient light of the rising sun and gave the clearing a surreal, silvery appearance.

"I'm not entirely certain, Sir... but I think I did this." Harry responded after a long while. His body was operable, but every muscle ached incredibly. He was suffering from a severe case of magical exhaustion, as well.

Sirius looked at his godson with a level gaze. "Explain."

Harry thought out loud. "I was angry at Ms. Julia Peverell, a civilian reporter for the Daily Prophet. More angry than I can ever remember being. I was reacting to this in an unexpected way. I felt... my body was no longer able to contain my magic. I came here to release a portion of it in a safe manner, but it was too much to hold on to. It felt like my body was on fire, I lost consciousness. I woke up to you calling my name. That's all I remember, Sir. What would you have me do?" He stood rigidly and awaited instructions.

Sirius' mind was racing. No wizard that he'd ever heard of had lost control like this. But then again, Harry was not like any other wizard he'd heard of. He'd undergone several experimental procedures to increase his magical capacity, among other things. Experimental procedures that were purely theoretical in nature before the Boy who Lived volunteered for them. The long-term effects of these experiments were completely unknown, a fact which Sirius had tried desperately (and failed) to make his godson understand.

Exhaling slowly, Sirius led his godson to a nearby pair of tree trunks that had been cleanly cut at about knee level and motioned for him to sit. They sat in silence for a full minute before Sirius asked, "And what about your magical discharges?"

Harry stared out at some fixed point in the distance. "They're getting worse. I turned my bed to ashes, melted the granite behind it. I don't understand what's happening to me, Sir."

Sirius clapped a reassuring hand on his godson's shoulder. "If anybody understands, it'll be Matheson. He'll find out what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong with me, Sir." Harry replied, with a harsher edge to it than Sirius could ever recall hearing on the young man's voice.

Despite the warning in his godson's voice, Sirius stood up and motioned to the surrounding landscape, which was still smoking in the sunlight. "Does this look right to you, Harry? What if this happens again, what if you're at Hogwarts? You know you can't use your portkey inside the wards, are you really willing to take that risk?"

Harry stared silently out into nothingness, and his godfather didn't press further. Harry was far too rational for his own good, he'd understand why he needed to go back to Dr. Matheson. As much as Sirius hated the man, he was perhaps the only mediwizard alive who knew the true extent of Harry's augmentation. He should know, as he performed most of the experimental procedures himself.

* * *

Harry Potter was running his 9th mile of the day on the treadmill, the machines he was hooked up to displayed everything from his heart rate to his blood pressure to his alpha-wave emissions. Two machines displayed nothing but thin red and green lines that wavered rapidly at seemingly random intervals. His grey patient outfit was damp with sweat from the pace he was keeping. The white-robed assistant pushed his spectacles up on the bridge of his nose again and said dismissively, "That's enough for now, thank you Mr. Potter."

Gladly acquiescing, the Boy who Lived pushed the shutoff button on the treadmill and slowed to a stop, toweling off his face while the lab assistant wrote final notes on his ever-present clipboard.

They'd been running him ragged with these strange tests. He'd been told to punch a black pad as quickly as possible, then as hard as possible, then at intervals of 3 seconds. He'd lifted weights while hooked up to the same group of machines, sparred with a man so completely covered with pads that no part of his body was visible. He was shown movies that consisted of nothing but quick flashes random images. He had thrown at least a thousand stunners in the last week, and they took his wand from him whenever he wasn't throwing stunners at a machine. They still hadn't told him anything.

Every mealtime he was given three potions and a bowl of nutrient-rich soup that had the consistency of gelatin mixed with clam chowder. He had blood drawn for testing every morning. He was poked, prodded, jolted and asked questions by the dozen. At all times, he was accompanied by a black-uniformed guard. He was huge, rough and muscular, looking more like a hired thug than a security officer.

When not undergoing tests, Harry was confined to a room with a bed, a clock on the wall and a toilet in the corner. He hated this room. He was in it for weeks at a time after his operations. They didn't allow him any personal effects, not even the picture of his Mom and Dad. He had a very acute sense of his own magic, due mostly to the procedures he'd undergone, and he could clearly tell that whatever potions they were giving him were severely restricting him. His magic was being kept at an almost impossible low level. Just a step above a squib, if he could trust his senses in this place. He couldn't even tell whether his captors were wizards or not anymore, and his stunners were almost entirely invisible instead of their usual bright red color.

How did it come to this? Stuck in the Blackholme Institute again, being force-fed some potion that might turn him permanently into a squib, unable to leave of his own volition. And where was Sirius? Why hadn't he come to visit? How long was he going to be kept in this damn Institute? He clenched his fists tightly as he sat down on the bed heavily. _Breathe, Harry_._ Inhale, exhale_. After a few moments he calmed down considerably.

_I am a soldier. A soldier follows orders. When a soldier fails to follow orders, people get hurt. My orders are to stay at the Blackholme Institute for testing. When the testing is finished, I will be able to leave._ Unwillingly, strange thoughts filtered into Harry's consciousness.

_Why isn't Sirius here? He always visited me before. Why do they keep drawing blood, why do they keep feeding me these potions? What are they doing to me?_

Harry ran over possible explanations, and found them quite slow in coming. Were the potions affecting his mental faculties as well? Anger built in him, but he quelled it ruthlessly. He couldn't afford to get angry in a place like this. What he needed were answers, and he wasn't going to find any in this room.

Standing up quietly, he walked over to the window and stared out at the endless forest that bordered the Institute. Pausing at the tree line, he noticed something strange. Last time he was at Blackholme, the forest was made up of English Elm. These trees were the same height and color, but there were fewer suckers at the base of the tree and the leaf stalks were noticeably shorter. These were Wych Elms. There were no Wych Elms within a hundred miles of Blackholme...

Spinning around, he stared at the door. _How could I have missed it for so long... Where am I?!_ Fighting down a surge of panic, he looked at the clock on the wall. Raising his hand, he attempted to wandlessly summon it off of the wall. It didn't even shudder, even though his last pair of limiters were strewn over several acres of countryside and not on his wrists. He looked at his hand with a growing sense of dread. _How could I have missed it!_

This wasn't the Blackholme Institute. It was an identical copy at the very least, but it was at least a hundred miles away. What sort of tests were they running on him? He couldn't allow them to continue, regardless. His medical records were classified top secret, and these people were making their own records. He had to get out of here and notify his superiors.

Making his way silently over to the door, he tested the knob. Locked from the outside, hinges on the outside. Clever. He couldn't pick the lock and he couldn't pull the hinges off. He checked the gap between the bottom of the door and the floor, it was flush. No gap whatsoever. The door was sealed tight. There were bars over the small observational window, bars over the outside windows. The air vent was bolted in place in 8 places. This room was a prison.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he thought as rapidly as his brain would allow. His evening meal would come in less than an hour, he'd have to wait until then to make his move. The guards would be tough to get by physically, they had his wand and they carried their own. That he would allow himself to be led into a situation like this... it was inexcusable. But now was not the time for self-recrimination. He had to start planning contingencies.

* * *

He was still deep in thought half an hour later when the huge security officer led a white-robed lab assistant into the room pushing a tray of potions and the usual bowl of slop. "Good evening, Mr. Potter. Ready for your dinner?" the man asked with an air of indifference.

Harry sat rigidly on his bed and stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge either person. The assistant walked over to him and shook him slightly. "Are you feeling well, Mr. Potter?"

The Boy who Lived looked up at his captor with a blank expression on his face. Then, without warning, he fell face-first onto the tile floor.

"Mr. Potter!" The assistant shouted, pulling on his patient's arm in a futile attempt to pick him up. The black-uniformed security officer rushed over and picked Harry up by both shoulders, setting him on his feet.

Harry brought his left knee up with as much force as his body could muster, burying it into the guard's groin. Immediately, he balled up his right fist and slammed it into the bigger man's temple, sending him crashing to the floor limply. The assistant tried to shout for help, but Harry's heel impacted his jaw before he could get any sound out. He twisted a full turn and a half before hitting the bed at an odd angle and bouncing off onto the floor to join the security guard.

A quick search yielded a brass ring with several identical-looking keys on it. With more effort than it should have taken, Harry shoved the guard out of view from the observational window. After removing the assistant's white robe, identification tag and shoes, he put him under the covers and pulled the sheet up around his eyes to shield the man from view. That should buy him at least a few minutes. Donning the items and pushing the tray of potions and slop, he shut and locked the door behind him and walked down the hallway towards the testing area.

He didn't pass a single person on the short walk, strangely. How many people were in on this? Putting his ear to the metal door that led to the testing area, he kept still for a full minute before deciding that the area was clear enough to proceed. Unlocking and opening the door quietly, he pushed the tray in and shuffled behind it. There was barely enough light to see his hand in front of his face, but his eyes quickly adjusted to the low light.

A quick survey of the room told him that it was in fact empty. There were several locked drawers, one of which wouldn't unlock with any of the keys on the ring. This was it, then. With a well-placed and rather loud stomp, the drawer separated from its outside hinge and hung open partway. Harry's hand darted in and searched by touch for his quarry, finally closing around his prize. _11 inches, holly and phoenix feather_, Harry thought with a small smirk of accomplishment, feeling the small but desperately needed magical boost course through his veins. _Good_.

With a disproportionately strong flick of his wrist and a quiet, "Accio Harry's files," at least thirty pieces of paper flew towards him, most stapled to pictures or complicated-looking graphs. Even that simple summoning spell took a good amount of his magic. After they had all gathered in a pile, he folded them in half and tucked them into the deep left pocket of his robes. "Incendio." He said, jabbing his wand at the file cabinet in the corner, destroying any proof that his files had been taken. Just in case, he grabbed one of the potions from the tray he'd been pushing and tucked that into his deep pocket as well.

As Harry approached the door, he heard a commotion on the other side, two men whispering almost unintelligibly. He surmised that they were arguing over who would be stuck with collating the files. Well, he had a compromise ready for them.

Taking a thick wooden plaque off of the wall, he gripped it tightly and kicked the door open violently. One of the assistants was right in its path, and lost consciousness the moment his head impacted the metal door. He fell boneless to the tile below. The sight of his co-worker being struck by a door elicited a shout from the other assistant, who was silenced with a dull thud as the oak plaque struck the back of his head.

Dragging both men into the room quickly, he searched them both. None of his captors carried wands, odd since he knew they were wizards. Why were they unarmed, where were the rest of the guards? Questions for another time, Harry decided. Taking the keycard off one of the assistants, he shut and locked the door behind him and continued down the hallway towards the exit.

"Leaving so soon, Mr. Potter?" A cold voice behind him caused him to whirl around, wand extended.

A man with short brown hair and strikingly handsome features stood less than thirty feet away from Harry, right where he had just passed. How did he get there without a sound? Nobody was that quiet. He had no shoes, wore baggy black pants tied with a drawstring and a black collared shirt that hung open to reveal a chiseled, lightly tanned chest. His right hand held a cane that appeared to be made of stone. He seemed completely at ease, considering that Harry's wand was pointed straight at his heart.

"I knew it was just a matter of time before you realized you were being held captive, but I honestly didn't expect it to take this long. Perhaps I overestimated you." He said in a sharp, calculating tone. "I'm afraid, however, that I can't just let you leave. I happen to be in the middle of a fascinating experiment, and if my subject dropped out halfway through it would be quite devastating to my research. Come back to your cage quietly, Mr. Potter, it's far less painful than the alternative."

Harry didn't know who this man was, but he couldn't go back to that cell now. He wordlessly shot the most powerful stunner he could manage, which still only barely glowed red. The tile in front of his captor rose in the shape of a giant hand and absorbed the stunner. No sooner did the stunner disappear than the hand split in two. The brown-haired man was still standing in an unassuming position, but the floor was moving towards him at an incredible pace.

_He can transmute?!_ Harry didn't have the time to ponder the new development as a gigantic tile foot crashed into him, sending him flying backwards towards the exit. The man glided after him on his moving platform of tile.

Heaving, the Boy who Lived tried to catch his breath before the man on the tile platform caught up with him. He ducked under a roundhouse kick and swept out his foot to trip his opponent. His blow connected, but nearly broke his own foot as it struck a tile barrier between his sweep and the man's ankle. Biting back a curse and welcoming the adrenaline now surging through his veins, he rolled backwards and took up a defensive fighting stance.

"Surely you can do better than that, Mr. Potter. Show me your strength." He taunted, following Harry but stopping several yards away.

Gathering up all of his remaining strength, Harry plunged his hand into the ground and sent a shockwave of thick spikes rolling towards the brown-haired man.

With a sharp tap of his cane, the hallway froze and then flattened once more. "Nice try, but-" the man's taunting voice cut off as he realized he was alone in the hallway.

"He's still fast, I see. It's time for me to be going, then. At least the experiment wasn't a complete loss..." With a shrug, the man turned and walked back down the hallway towards the testing area.

Harry felt the man's footsteps grow fainter as he walked down the hallway, but it wasn't until he heard the metal door shut that he pulled himself up and out of the tile where he'd hidden himself. Once the spikes obscured his opponent's vision, he had made a hole in the floor and fell into it, covering it up once again before the attack struck except for a small slit to breathe out of. In his weakened state, the best he could hope for was that the man would not attempt to find him once he hid. The gambit paid off, this time, but he was exhausted.

Limping slightly where he kicked the tile barrier, he exited the building with all due haste and found quite a surprise waiting for him.

He was in downtown London, almost directly across from the Ministry of Magic. It was well after nightfall, how did that man manage to stay so close and still avoid detection? The windows must've been charmed to look like he was at Blackholme, but that was easy enough for a wizard. Escaping the view of the British Ministry even when less than 100 yards away from the entrance, now that was a feat worth mentioning.

Shakily, he made his way over to the phone booth and dialed 62442.

* * *

Sirius had never in his life been as furious and depressed as he was right now. He had been visiting what he thought was his godson for the past week, but Dr. Matheson said, "Harry's magical exhaustion was so severe that he is being kept in an unconscious state until we can discern the possible ramifications of waking him up before his reserves fully replenish themselves."

He knew now that it wasn't Harry he was looking at and talking to every day, and it probably wasn't even Dr. Matheson he spoke with. He'd had the wool pulled over his eyes, and he didn't even see it happening. Didn't even think it COULD happen, actually. How did they kidnap his godson from right under his nose, and what the hell did they do to him?

Dr. Matheson had been taken into custody less than 15 minutes after Harry showed up at the Ministry of Magic, he was being held for questioning in the darkest, dankest cell available. Mere minutes after his imprisonment, the polyjuice potion wore off. Whoever they had, it wasn't the one responsible for his godson's condition.

Harry showed up at the Ministry of Magic a ragged mess, but he managed to politely ask for Sirius Black before he collapsed on the floor. He was immediately carted back to base where he was fully examined by the mediwizards on staff there. His magical reserves appeared to be even lower than they were a week ago, which shouldn't have been possible. Harry's capacity was barely above that of a squib, according to test results. He'd been on a steady diet of three-meal potions and muscle regenerators, but they couldn't make his magical reserves fill up any faster. He still wouldn't talk to anyone, not even him. Harry had woken up a few hours ago, but he just stared at the picture of Prongs and Lily with the same unreadable expression on his face. Whatever happened during the week he was captive, he'd talk about it when he was ready to act.

His reserves were coming back, slowly but surely, and if preliminary tests could be trusted then he'd be back at full strength before he went back to Hogwarts. Severus Snape, among others, was hard at work identifying the potion his Godson smuggled out of the lab during his escape. It never ceased to amaze him how level-headed Harry could be in the middle of what could easily be considered a crisis. With any luck, they'd be able to get a list of ingredients and trace it back to someone who actually WAS responsible. And that was the best news Sirius Black had heard in quite a while.

* * *

"Hey, Harry. How are you feeling?" Sirius asked gently, sitting down on the corner of his godson's bunk. He hadn't left his room in nearly a week, breaking his self-imposed solitary confinement only to go on his morning runs. Nobody could keep up with him long enough to ask him questions, and talking to him in the showers just crossed the line.

The Boy who Lived looked up from the simple wood frame that contained a picture of Lily and James Potter. His green eyes blazed with their usual fierce determination. "Good as new, Sir. Is there anything I can do to assist with the investigation?"

Sirius Black nodded slightly, a smile coming to his face. "Actually, we need you to take us to the place where you were held. We can't break through the enchantments on the area, we need someone who has already been there. Hopefully, he left something useful."

Harry shook his head. "I won't let anyone enter before me. He can transmute, Sir, maybe even better than I can. He's unnaturally stealthy. I couldn't sense him from 30 feet. It might have been a side-effect of the potion I was fed, but we should proceed with caution. He is a very dangerous man."

Idly, and with no small measure of dread fascination, Sirius wondered just how good a wizard would have to be for Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived and the savior of the Wizarding World, to classify him as "very dangerous."

* * *

The green-eyed young man led three plainclothes Aurors to the location of the building he had been held, only to discover it was no longer there. A preliminary search of the magical fields in the area uncovered nothing of suspicion. It was like the place had picked up and moved. "It was right here..." Harry pointed to the line where two office buildings met. There wasn't enough space between them for a playing card.

Closing his eyes, he took two steps with his hand outstretched to verify that none of the regular enchantments were keeping him from entering. His hand impacted the outer wall of the office building right where it should. He shouldn't have been surprised, but it was awfully hard to move a building in plain sight, especially in a populated area like downtown London. _I know it was right here_...

A deep search of the area proved just as fruitless. There were absolutely no magical signatures of any kind. Moving a building, especially a building that big, left a signature that could be read for literally months afterwards, it wasn't the sort of thing you could conceal. Harry had never heard of a method for erasing magical signatures, it was likened to obliviating a stone. Who were these people?

* * *

After several more frustrating days of absolutely no progress in the investigation, Harry was sent back to Hogwarts. He'd never been happier to leave the base.

He arrived half an hour early, found a vacant compartment and stowed his duffel bag, eager for the downtime provided by an empty room. He needed more of it these days to control his temper. Between his suspension and the fact that he still hadn't fully recovered from whatever potions he'd been fed while an ignorant captive, he'd had no release at all from the pent-up anger he was accumulating at a startling pace.

Harry's forehead knit in frustration. It had been a huge blow to his pride, knowing that he'd willingly participated in those tests for so long. That strange man's words still reverberated in his head. _Perhaps I overestimated you_. He would never forget that sharp, cold voice, or the words that were breaking his confidence like an ice pick.

He was so focused on replaying the events of that week that he failed to notice the faces peeking through the door into his compartment. Muted murmuring filtered through the oak and glass, snapping him out of his self-loathing.

"Is that him?"

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter."

"Did he really tear down a mansion in a matter of seconds?"

"I heard it was just a rumor to make it easier to negotiate with kidnappers."

"I heard he killed a dozen Death Eaters with his bare hands."

"I heard he can fly without a broom!"

"Bollocks."

"Well he looks unstable, I wouldn't go near him."

"Sod off, you're just jealous because your girlfriend is making a Harry Potter scrapbook."

"What?!"

"Shh, guys he's watching us!"

Harry stood up and walked over to the door, looking into the eyes of each person on the other side of the compartment. Some of them waved, some grinned sheepishly and some shied away from the eye contact. With a short nod, he drew the blinds closed and put a silencing charm on them. He didn't need more people gossiping about him within earshot.

The ride was completely uneventful after that, not even Dorothy the snack lady bothered him.

_Perhaps I overestimated you, Mr_._ Potter_.

Harry closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, I must say I'm confused." A woman in her late twenties stated flatly. She was an investigative reporter; it would take more than a huge bag of galleons and dinner in a gigantic manor to keep her from asking questions.

"About what, Ms. Peverell?" the young heir of the Malfoy name asked politely as he cut his veal parmigiana into bite-sized pieces and dipped one in a blackberry mustard sauce.

Her blue eyes met his polished grey ones unblinkingly as he washed the meat down with a 1992 Château Valandraud. So he wanted to play hardball? She didn't like games, she was much more straightforward. "You've given me a lot of money and a permanent column in the Daily Prophet, all for writing a story on Harry Potter that I planned on writing anyway. I'm not that naïve. What's in it for you?"

With a soft chuckle, Draco set his goblet down and wiped his mouth delicately with the Egyptian silk napkin on his lap. "You might say I have a vested interest in Mr. Potter's popularity. I couldn't care less what you think my motives are; keep printing your articles and you can keep your job. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a portkey to catch." Draining the last of his goblet and wiping his mouth once more, he stood up and said, "Have an uneventful day, Ms. Peverell."


	12. Tooth and Nail

_Disclaimer in chapter 1._

Chapter XII: Tooth and Nail

_Dear Harry:_

_I hope you didn't feel too uncomfortable in Transfiguration, I heard there was a bit of a commotion. Something about you saving the Queen from a jinxed walking cane, or some rubbish? Anyway, I'm done with my schoolwork for the weekend. How would you like to get your mind off of being a celebrity for a while?_

_Ginny_

Harry neatly folded the parchment and put it in his top drawer, where he stored all his letters. Having not gotten any post for so long, he wasn't about to take it for granted. Most of the letters were from Ginny and Ron, but occasionally Hermione would send one. It was the only way for them to reach him consistently, since he had been making it a habit to disappear once he was no longer in class or eating. And Harry was quite skilled at disappearing.

With a heavy sigh, the Boy who Lived wondered if he'd ever be free from all this attention. Free to get back to his missions, his life. He had been feeling useless for nearly a month, ever since he got back to Hogwarts. His magical capacity was back to normal, with no permanent side-effects of the strange potion he'd been given over Winter Holiday. While he was grateful that his mistake was not impossible to fix, it was a mistake nonetheless and Harry Potter had been making far too many mistakes lately.

He buried his head in his hands, running his fingers through his close-cropped black hair in a slow, soothing motion. Frustration was nearly a permanent fixture in his emotional repertoire now. A lot of this new emotion was focused on his fellow students, who had somehow gone completely mad over Holiday. They were constantly asking for autographs, spilling their insides out as if he could do something about their situation, following him around and pushing people out of the way so he could pass... as if Harry Potter needed a bodyguard, and a student at that! Even Quidditch had fallen victim to this curse, with Harry's supporters filling the stands during practice and cheering whenever he did anything at all. It was intensely frustrating, being made out to be some kind of celebrity.

Just as much aggravation, however, was focused on a single, constantly grating entity: Julia Peverell. His aggravation was mixed with rage sometimes, which was a very dangerous combination when you were the Boy who Lived. She appeared to have good intentions, but her stories were indirectly the cause of all his problems. She'd been by Sirius' office at least twice a week for the last month, trying in vain to get an exclusive from the focal point of her pathetic career.

With this new emotion running through his system in torrents, Harry found himself disappearing more and more, taking solace in the quiet solitude. It wasn't that he enjoyed being alone, exactly, it was more like he did not enjoy being around frustrating people. Which was almost everybody.

The notable exceptions were his friends, of course, and a thankfully serious and respectful 6th year named Neville Longbottom. After Defense Against the Dark Arts on a rather quiet Monday, Harry noticed that the overzealous blonde Hufflepuff who usually ambushed him shortly after class was backed into a corner by Neville, who was talking to her in a soft whisper. Whatever the quiet Gryffindor was saying had the girl on the verge of tears, but she didn't approach Harry again. The Boy who Lived admired that sort of tact and delicacy in corrosive situations. It was always beneficial to establish a positive rapport with such people.

* * *

Harry made his way out to the Quidditch Pitch, signature pitch-black broom concealed discreetly in his closed hand in miniature form. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a flake of snow on the ground, one could almost forget that it was still winter. The air was still cold and crisp, which contrasted magnificently with the brightness of the sun, reaching out from just above the horizon. Ginny was already in the air by the time he reached the pitch, doing lazy barrel rolls and figure eights. He enlarged his broom and mounted it, rocketing up to her level. "Sorry I'm late."

Ginny pulled in beside him and shook her head, her windblown hair beginning to come out of her tightly-drawn ponytail. She tucked the fiery strands behind her ear, grinning up at the Boy who Lived. His abdomen began contracting rapidly again, an uncomfortable occurrence that was happening more and more frequently. "I didn't set a time for you to be here, you know. Don't worry about it." With a small smirk, she took off towards the far goals.

Harry raced after her, nearly catching up as she rounded the golden hoops. He cornered hard, turning inward to keep from flying off of his broom as he pulled up on the nose. The front of his broom nearly brushed her cloak as he passed her on the outside, ducking low and speeding towards the opposite hoops. He heard an exhilarated shout from Ginny, "No fair!" as the distance between them grew. For reasons that he didn't quite understand, it spurred him to go even faster. _Watch this._ He thought with a small smirk.

This was one of the few things that could take his mind off of his situation and forced his frustration to melt away to nothingness. It was so relaxing, being on a broom with no crowded stadiums or cheering fans, no overzealous girls or misguided reporters to watch him. He missed the anonymity of his job, and this was as close as he could come to disappearing off the map.

On the return lap, Harry pulled into a corkscrew and flew directly underneath Ginny, eliciting a shriek from the red-headed Gryffindor. It was a bright, musical sound, one which he particularly enjoyed causing. Smiling, he completed the lap and waited for her to catch up to him at the invisible finish line.

The black-haired Gryffindor didn't know why he felt the sudden urge to share, nor did he know why the thought of her on his broom sent a spark of electricity shooting down his spine. It wasn't as if she hadn't ridden on his broom before, she'd been on the polished black masterpiece with him for the better part of two hours when he had rescued her from that mansion at the beginning of term. All the same, when she crossed the finish line, he asked, "Would you like to try my broom?"

Ginny smiled, nodding enthusiastically as she said, "Are you kidding? I'd _love_ to try your broom! The question is, will you want to keep flying once you realize that I'm better on your broom than you are?!" She shouted the last part, fighting to be heard over the stiff breeze that was whistling around them.

He felt better already.

* * *

Harry looked out of his window at the clear night sky, reciting constellations in his head as he let his mind quietly wander. Were Saturdays always this monotonous? How long would it take Ginny to finish her History of Magic homework, anyway? He was tempted to go down there and start dictating, just so she would be free for the night. More and more these days, he found himself wishing for the constant company of the youngest Weasley. He didn't know quite how she did it, though he had a few viable hypotheses, but she could calm him down without fail. No matter how frustrated he was at Julia Peverell, no matter how many times he tried to ignore the stares he was receiving, she could make him forget his problems. That, he had decided, was a skill worthy of merit.

Perhaps he should get her some sort of medal or certificate, recognizing her for her continued efforts? Material rewards were a great way of boosting morale, and also a way of showing appreciation in an acceptable manner. She probably wouldn't want a medal, what sort of material reward could he present to her? It had to be something that she would enjoy wearing or using, something that adequately conveyed the gratitude he felt. Honestly, he had no idea what she would like. He should ask Ron or Hermione, perhaps during class when Ginny was guaranteed not to be in the immediate vicinity.

His musings were interrupted as the door to the dormitory burst open, revealing the figure of his godfather. It had been weeks since he'd made contact with Sirius, and rarely had he missed anyone as much as he missed the Auror in Charge of Executive Protection. "Sir." He said, snapping to attention and taking in every feature of his surrogate father.

"There's been a report of a kidnapping in London, a simple snatch and grab operation. You were asked for by name. It'll be dark and fast enough that nobody will know or care if you're the Boy who Lived. I'm not saying you have to do it, but if you're still up for a mission..." He trailed off, watching his godson closely for a reaction.

Harry's heart leapt in his chest. He had a mission again! From the sound of it, this was a temporary reinstatement for a freelance assignment. Perhaps if he performed well enough, he would get his job back. Merlin, he missed his job...

"Yes Sir!" He said, barely containing the excited tremor in his voice. Snapping a rigid salute, he listened intently as his godfather explained the details and parameters of his mission. A smile came unbidden to his face.

* * *

Julia Peverell pushed the parchment away from her in disgust, her eyes narrowed in cold fury. "And you sincerely believed I would go along with this, Mr. Malfoy? That I'd let you get away with it? You're more naïve than I expected." Standing up, she reached into her bag for a pinch of floo powder. She knew it was foolish to make a deal with a Malfoy, but deal or no deal there was no amount of money that could buy her integrity.

Draco reached into his pocket, his gleaming grey eyes reflecting pinpoints of firelight as she threw the powder into the fire and said, "Diagon Alley." The fire did not turn green, however, and she nearly stepped onto the log before she realized it had singed her shoe. Letting out a yelp and leaping back from the fireplace, she stomped the fire out of her pump and whirled around towards Draco with a murderous look on her face.

"What did you do?!" She shouted at the young heir, all pretense of civility dissolving. She would teach this little brat...

Draco pulled his hand out of his pocket in a flash, and before she could even scream for help she felt her body grow stiff under the body-bind curse. She swore at herself mentally for not expecting the teenager to use a wand on her. She should've been more careful, she should've...

Malfoy stood with a calculating stare and walked over to the frozen young reporter. "On the contrary, Ms. Peverell," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice as he pulled a vial out of his pocket and held it up for her to see. It had a thick, dark green liquid inside. He emptied it in one gulp. "I fully expect you to fight this tooth and nail. _Obliviate_."

* * *

According to recently acquired intel, the hostage was being held by 2 kidnappers in a run-down apartment in the south end of London. It gave the room number, 207, along with the necessary blueprints and highly detailed backgrounds and sketches of the two criminals, which included likely tactics employed by each. The accuracy and sheer amount of information he'd been given was incredible. It was so incredible that it bordered on suspicious.

The Boy who Lived entered the unlocked front door silently, noting no magical signatures of any sort and no guard presence. His hearing was hypersensitive, searching for any hint of movement. A door closing upstairs was the only hint he needed.

* * *

40 seconds later, Harry made his way out of the run-down apartment complex with the hostage, an 8-year old girl with blonde wavy hair and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, latched tightly onto his chest. As the tactical information had suggested, there were only 2 guards, both easily subdued. As their background information confirmed, they were not well-trained nor did they have wands. One of them was smoking during his mission, which was easily the stupidest mistake he'd made since kidnapping someone.

But it sure made his job easier. In fact, as the Boy who Lived dropped the hostage off at the Mobile Command Post he couldn't remember having a smoother mission, everything went perfectly according to plan. Had that ever happened before?

A mission that easy felt ...wrong, somehow.

* * *

After his first real mission in months, sitting in the Transfiguration classroom with the rest of the 6th year Gryffindors and turning stones into dogs seemed positively boring. Still, it was his standing assignment and he wasn't about to start slacking now. He still had to ask one of his friends about a material reward for Ginny's efforts, but at the moment his assignment required his full attention. It was actually quite difficult in some ways, seeing how detailed you could make the dogs. He was busy perfecting the baying of his basset hound with Hermione when the door burst open.

Instinctively, he pushed his partner's head down and whirled around, wand extended towards the threat. His focus faltered when he saw who the intruder was.

"Harry Potter, you are under arrest. Please come quietly." Kingsley Shacklebolt said in a commanding voice, his wand leveled at the Boy who Lived. 5 Aurors filed in behind him, forming a semi-circle around him. He recognized all of them, and each man looked afraid. Why were they afraid of him? He let Hermione up and put his wand away, but made no move to stand.

Ron, who was sitting at the next table over, pushed his chair out and stood to face the black Auror. "On what grounds?!" He practically shouted; his hands clenched into fists. His wand, fresh from mutilating another slab of stone, was still in his right hand.

Shacklebolt's wand shifted over to him. "This is official Ministry business. If you interfere, you will be held responsible for your actions. Sit down."

He took a step towards the tall man, blocking his view of Harry. "I will not! You can't arrest Harry, he hasn't done anything. This is preposterous!"

Kingsley extended his wand forward. "I won't warn you again, Ron. Go back to your seat or we will be forced to detain you as well." His eyes were hard, Harry noted as adrenaline coursing through his veins. This would not end well for his friend if this conversation continued.

"No! Harry's my friend, and I won't let you take him!" Ron shouted, raising his wand up towards Kingsley.

"Take him down!" Shacklebolt shouted, and the next moment 6 bright red beams were streaking towards his tall, red-haired friend.

_Shit!_ Harry thought, rising from his chair. Grabbing hold of Ron's shoulder, he swung him around and pushed him backwards, out of the way of the stunners. All 6 of them struck him in the back, propelling him clean over his table and into the wall in front of him. He struck hard on his left side. Colors exploded inside his eyelids as the pain flooded his mind.

His ribs made creaking sounds from the impact, and bit back a curse as his internal organs compressed painfully from the power of the stunners. Motes of light floated across his vision as he came to rest in a heap on the cold granite floor.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, clambering over chairs to reach his friend's side.

The Boy who Lived grunted, then gathered his feet under him and pushed himself up to an unsteady standing position. His legs were shaking, so he leaned on his table for support as Hermione looked up at him with brown eyes widened in shock. Those were some very substantial stunners. He could almost hear her mind racing as she calculated the cumulative effect of 6 simultaneous stunners. At least one of his experimental surgeries had paid off, it seemed. In another half minute he'd be back to normal, theoretically.

Coughing once, he raised his head and stood as straight as he could manage. "Leave him alone and I'll come quietly." He said in his signature monotone, making no motion towards his wand holster.

Kingsley looked thoughtful for a moment, staring searchingly at the Boy who Lived. After a moment, he nodded slightly.

Harry looked at his friend, who was willing to face fully-trained Aurors for him. A strange emotion he'd never felt before flooded him, filling him with the kind of warmth that came from long evenings in front of a blazing campfire. Unfortunately, he had no time to examine that feeling. He made a deal, it was time to keep his end of it. "Thank you, Ron. Please sit down."

Ron opened his mouth to say something, and then he glanced at the Aurors again. His shoulders slumped as he turned and sat down in Harry's recently vacated chair next to his girlfriend. He couldn't even meet his friend's eyes as Harry walked steadily towards Shacklebolt. Surely this was a simple mistake.

"Put these on, Mr. Potter." The black Auror handed Harry a thick pair of interlocking circles. His heart sank as he recognized the markings on them. They were a special pair of limiters called limit shackles, they were like his usual ones but bled off 100 of his focused magical energy as heat and couldn't be removed by anyone wearing them. There was only one pair in existence, to the best of his knowledge, and they belonged to his godfather.

_Sirius?_ His eyes widened in disbelief. If they had his limit shackles, it validated his arrest. This was no mistake about it, he was really being charged with committing a crime. He'd only worn the iron circles once before, and it was the worst 8 hours of his life. It was like living in muted black and white.

But if this was his punishment, even if he did not know what he was being punished for, it was his duty to accept it. Without another word he clicked off his limiters, handing them to Kingsley. A quiet rustling of fabric confirmed that every other Auror had taken a step away from him as his limiters came off. The world shrank as his magic expanded inside his body, filling him to capacity, and quickly to overflowing. He tried to commit to memory every sensation happening inside of him, as he had no idea when he would be allowed to take these off again. He spared a glance back at his friends, who were watching him with confusion and no small amount of panic. Exhaling slowly, he resigned himself to his fate.

He took the shackles and mechanically slipped them around his wrists. The iron circles constricted until they were painfully tight against his wrists. The audible click of the joint locking mechanism resonated in his head as his vision grew dim and the sounds in the classroom faded into nothingness. The only sound he could hear was his own heartbeat, thrumming slowly in his head. When he had used these before, he had gotten used to the lower level of sensation eventually, but for the first half hour he had to fight to keep from hyperventilating. He had gotten better at dealing with the nearly claustrophobic feeling of blunted senses.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Harry Potter looked down at his hands and felt ... ashamed. What had he done wrong? Hadn't he done everything asked of him, without complaint?

* * *

The cell wasn't as dank or dark as others he'd seen, but Harry had never felt worse in his life. He had only been locked up for a day and a half, but it felt like the better part of a month.

Harry had been charged with the rape and torture of Ms. Julia Peverell, if the Wizengamot found him guilty he could be punished by a seizure of up to 50 of his total aggregate wealth and up to 15 years imprisonment in Azkaban. He would also be banned permanently from working in a Ministry-funded position. This meant he would never go on another mission again.

Through a short self-checkup, Harry realized that he had almost no appetite, his interest was blunted and his muscles were refusing to operate at full capacity. Symptoms of depression. He'd never been depressed before, but he supposed that he'd never had reason before now.

He had been chained to the wall, forced to wear the hated limit shackles while people in dress robes who knew nothing of war decided his fate. He wouldn't even be allowed to admit his testimony until the next morning, meaning he would have almost nothing to do until then.

Visitors were allowed, but Sirius was the only one who had stopped by. He couldn't blame anyone, however, as it was the middle of the school week and he would bet a pile of galleons that nobody at Hogwarts had been told where he was being held.

Dropping to the cold granite floor, Harry squeezed out 100 more pushups and 200 more situps, and then sat up against the side of his prison to allow his muscles to recuperate. The chains rested heavy and cold on his legs and the only sounds he could make out were his heartbeat and a slow drip of some liquid out in the hall. It seemed to patter in an irregular beat, but Harry had seen odder things in his short life.

The Boy who Lived stared out at nothing, trying desperately to recall the feeling of power he felt when he took his limiters off. It seemed a distant memory already...

"Harry?" His godfather's voice snapped him out of his recollections.

"Sir." He whispered in an acquiescent voice, unmoving.

Sirius Black stared through the iron bars into the dark cell that held his godson, the last living Potter. How had this happened?

Sirius asked Harry, "How are you feeling?" For anyone else, the answer would have seemed obvious. But he was asking a different kind of question.

The green-eyed boy replied, "Not well, Sir. My muscles refuse to respond forcefully, my mind is slow and I have lost my appetite. I believe I am suffering from depression."

"I'm doing everything in my power to get you out of here, Harry. You have to believe me." Sirius repeated, his stomach twisting painfully inside of him.

"I understand, Sir." Harry said in his signature monotone.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius turned to leave. A question, one he'd been meaning to ask for months, escaped his mouth. "Does being a soldier really make you happy?"

Harry sighed. He'd been thinking far too much about that question over the last few weeks. "I don't think it was ever about happiness. It's about identity."

Turning his head, the Boy who Lived stared at his godfather with achingly sharp eyes. "Being a soldier doesn't make me happy. It's not designed to. Being a soldier is my job. It's what I need to do to feel complete. It's the reason I know who I am, the reason I go to sleep at night knowing I've made a difference. That's all it's ever been about."

* * *

It was near midnight when Harry heard another pair of footsteps echoing down the hallway. The wall sconces flickered uncertainly in the damp corridor.

"Harry, where are you?" A distinctly feminine voice said in a hushed whisper, peering into the cell across the way from him. She was wearing a Hogwarts robe and had bright red hair tied in a ponytail.

"I'm here, Ginny." The black-haired Gryffindor answered quietly, standing up and taking two steps forward. That was as far as his chains allowed.

Ginny whirled around and grabbed the cold iron bars of his cell, leaning forward so she could see him in the low light. "Hey. I ... just wanted to see how you were holding up."

"I have been better." Harry looked down at the iron bands encircling his wrists. How he hated them.

The youngest Weasley winced at the answer. _Of course he's not doing well, he's in prison! Are you daft?!_ Struggling to find something innocuous to say, she blurted, "Ron got poisoned this morning." _Dammit! Why does this always happen to me?_ She cursed her traitorous mouth as Harry clenched his fists.

"How did it happen?!" He asked; his agitation showing clearly in the firelight.

She ducked her head to hide her blush, rather embarrassed that she couldn't seem to say anything right. "Someone slipped something in his pumpkin juice, apparently; they're still searching the kitchens for clues. Thank Merlin that Hermione was there. She recognized the symptoms for what they were and had him taken to the Hospital Wing immediately. Madam Pomfrey says she saved his life. I think Dad about had a coronary when he found out, it's like me and Ron are just magnets for this sort of thing..." She chuckled before she could stop herself, and then covered her mouth with both hands. "Sorry, Harry." The sound was heavily muffled, but he still made it out.

The Boy who Lived shook his head slowly. "You did nothing wrong. I am sorry that I wasn't there. I might have been able to catch whoever did this..."

"You can't save everyone, Harry. Just ... worry about yourself for now. We can take care of ourselves." Ginny reached through the bars and patted his hand reassuringly. Her mouth was hanging open slightly and she was staring downward, which he immediately recognized as meaning that she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how he would take it.

"Why haven't you broken out?" She asked in a surprisingly timid voice.

Harry blinked. Honestly, he'd never thought of leaving without permission. It would be considered disobeying a direct order, not to mention breaking out of prison was a very serious crime. "I can't. Even if I wanted to, my shackles bleed off all of my magical energy as heat. I have my orders."

"Forget about your orders! They locked you up and put those awful things on your wrists, for what? What did you do to deserve this?!" Her voice was elevating in pitch, indicating a high level of stress.

"The court has formally charged me with the rape and torture of Julia Peverell. I testify tomorrow." Harry said quietly.

Ginny's heart stopped. _There's no way he could've_... She shook her head to clear it. "And did you?" The question terrified her.

"No. I was on a mission at the time but I cannot divulge classified information, not even to the Wizengamot. They do not have the requisite security clearance. Sirius is trying to negotiate with Ms. Peverell, but she is adamant about prosecuting me. Ginny, I didn't do it." He looked her straight in the eye, willing her to believe his innocence. Even if the Wizarding court did find him guilty, if he could just convince the red-haired girl in front of him that he was innocent, that would be enough.

"You know I believe you, Harry. I know you're capable of a lot of things, but you're not capable of this." Ginny said, squeezing his hand. "I'll find out who did this to you, Harry." Her eyes held unshed tears but her voice had an edge of furious determination, something the Boy who Lived hadn't noticed before.

"I'll be back tomorrow night at-" she thought for a moment, then said, "2300 to visit you again. See you then, soldier." She flashed him a grin and padded off down the hallway.

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt unlocked Harry's door at precisely 9:00 am, but Harry hadn't moved since the last time the Auror had checked up on him. Something wasn't right, he knew it from the moment he received his orders.

He had known of Harry Potter long before he ever met the boy, of course, and he'd heard nothing but incredible things about him. Sirius bragged about him on a near-daily basis, though he never shared information that was above Kingsley's security clearance. Disciplined, intelligent, powerful and honest. Straightforward and always ready to go the extra mile for his mission. Always for the mission.

Truthfully, he was afraid of Harry's reaction when he came to apprehend him. After all, this was the boy who had recently killed the darkest wizard since Grindelwald. Sirius had called him the most powerful wizard alive, and Shacklebolt didn't think it was much of a stretch.

What had happened? What circumstances could have possibly landed Harry in Julia Peverell's flat, caused him to commit such alleged atrocities? The tall black wizard felt a stab of pity as he unlocked the restraining chain from around the prisoner. It looked as if the green-eyed Gryffindor hadn't slept at all. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were cracked, his fingers were trembling slightly as Kingsley helped him stand. His legs didn't seem to support his own weight. What happened to the strong young man Sirius always spoke of, the man who took 6 stunners including his own for a friend less than two days ago and was walking steadily a minute later? Were his limit shackles truly that bad?

"Come on, Harry, let's get you cleaned up." Without another word, Kingsley Shacklebolt led the Boy who Lived down the hall towards the bathrooms, the courtrooms and the inexorable pull of Justice.


	13. A Strange Sort of Normal

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XIII: A Strange Sort of Normal

"Sir, I think we've found something!" A pale, petit brunette told Sirius excitedly. He grumbled as he once again left his paperwork-laden desk and followed her into the laboratory to view her findings. She was far too eager for her own good...

As soon as he crossed through the double doors, his head was assaulted with such a disgusting cacophony of smells that bile rose in his throat. She spun around to face him so abruptly that he collided with her, knocking her into a table strewn haphazardly with flasks of various shapes and sizes. An Erlenmeyer flask, which until then was filled with a dark red, viscous liquid, shattered on the marble floor of the laboratory. The contents, when spilled out like that, looked quite a bit like a large bloodstain. Sirius groaned as he muttered his apology. Yet another expense he'd have to waste time writing off, and he'd gone far too long without coffee to be entirely pleasant.

The brunette didn't appear to care about the broken flask, nor did she care about his rather morose demeanor. She immediately launched into a lecture about the potion he'd asked her to analyze. "It's quite odd, actually. The potion appears to have no effect other than to nullify the affects of magic and magical devices. That's not quite right, either... it's more like a liquid sponge. It seems to soak up magic! Say this potion was ingested by a muggle. It would have no effect, of course, except to taste rather odd. Now if the same potion was imbibed by a magical being, it would dramatically decrease the amount of magical energy available to that person. The potion is incredibly potent; it might only take four to six full doses to drain an average witch or wizard of 90 of their magical energy. Someone like you might take upwards of eight or even ten. How many did you say Mr. Potter drank?" Her dark eyes bored into his, curiosity practically oozing out onto the ground.

_Actually, Miss, after leveling a square mile of forest around his training area, he was force-fed 9 of those damned things every day for an entire week, along with upwards of three hundred stunners a day to help drain him more quickly_... Sirius performed a few quick calculations in his head. His eyes widened at the implication. _That's not possible, not even for Harry_.

Coughing to cover his brief silence, he said roughly, "So, what did you bring me down here for?

The brunette looked rather disappointed at that, but nodded sharply and said, "Yes, of course, Sir."

She reached over a set of matching bottles and grabbed a small crystal vial half-filled with a liquid so dark it seemed to suck in the ambient light around it. His eyes widened as she held it up for him to view. "We just extracted it this morning, Sir. Preliminary tests indicate that it is a type of dragon's blood, but we can't be certain until the results of our final tests come back from Severus at around four o'clock tomorrow morning. That's good news, Sir, because if it is then there are only five outfits on the continent that are capable of trafficking it. This might be the lead we've been waiting for!"

His black eyes sparked to life at this. The potion that his Godson had brought back with him had proven an enigma. It was composed almost entirely of common and mundane items, save for this single ingredient. Dragon blood was promising. It meant they could follow it back to the trader, and hopefully to the buyer after that. Tomorrow promised to be a busy day, and Sirius Black couldn't wait to get started.

* * *

"Allow me to summarize the events of the evening. The victim, Ms. Peverell, had a column that told the entire world about you. It is now known to the courts that it was for this reason that you were suspended from your job. I would dearly like to know what exactly your job entails, Mr. Potter, but that is a question for a later time.

"You were suspended, and it was completely due to the column that Ms. Peverell wrote in each edition of the Daily Prophet. Overcome with rage at the prospect of losing your job, you devised a plan that would take you away from Hogwarts on the night of January 29th and into the private residence of the victim." The brown-robed wizard strode about the courtroom, gesturing wildly with his hands as he continued his story.

"Once inside, you raped Ms. Peverell and tortured her with the Cruciatus curse, a crime which I'm quite sure you know earns lifetime imprisonment at Azkaban. Once you let out your aggression on the victim, you used a very crude memory charm to attempt to cover your tracks. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was entirely ineffective. She awoke the next morning and remembered enough to know she had been obliviated. Which brings us up to the present. So tell me, Mr. Potter: Why did you do it?"

Harry answered immediately in his signature monotone. "I am innocent of these charges, councilor. I have never been to Ms. Peverell's private residence, nor acted in a manner that could be considered inappropriate in a court of law."

The brown-robed wizard looked to be expecting this answer, though not in as many words. "I see. If that is the case then I have to ask, where were you on the night of January 29th?"

"That information is classified. I cannot answer the question." The black-haired Gryffindor said, somewhat reluctantly.

"How convenient. Mr. Potter, need I remind you that this is a court of law. Thus you are required, by law, to answer the question. Where were you on the night of January 29th?" The supercilious wizard asked him again.

Harry licked his cracked lips and looked down at the iron shackles that chained him to the sturdy wooden chair in the center of the courtroom. They fit cleverly over his limit shackles. Merlin, but he hated those cursed bands...

The Boy who Lived didn't worry about the questions. He had been trained extensively in counter-interrogation techniques, in the event of his capture. An untrained man with greasy brown hair asking him questions was the least of his worries. He did not think the Wizengamot was allowed to torture him for information, but he would respond no better to violence than he was to this weak questioning. His mission was still confidential, and disseminating classified information was tantamount to treason, considering the amount that he knew. He was incredibly tired and weak, but he had felt worse. It was quite hard remembering a specific incident where this was true, but he stubbornly held onto that axiom. "As I said before, councilor, that is classified information. You do not have the requisite security clearance. I cannot answer the question."

"You do not have a choice!" The wizard said fiercely, his nostrils flaring. "Members of the Wizengamot, due to the defendant's complete disregard for due process and this courtroom, I request that Mr. Potter be given the maximum dosage of veritaserum!" The veins in his neck were bulging in a very angry manner. Harry assumed that this man had many external stressors in his life.

A vote was called, and the on-site potions administrator stepped forward with a small, clear vial of liquid. The Boy who Lived had not been expecting this. He looked to his Godfather for silent help. Sirius just grinned wolfishly and flashed Harry a thumbs up. _Don't worry_, the Auror in Charge of Executive Protection motioned in the gestural language they had learned quite early on so that they could communicate silently. _Just relax_.

Harry did not share his Godfather's carefree attitude. What if he divulged classified information? Still, he could not refuse to take the veritaserum. After three drops had been placed on his tongue, Harry swallowed dutifully and looked up at the potions master with an expectant expression.

"What is your name?" The administrator asked quietly, studying the Boy who Lived with a practiced eye.

"Harry James Potter." He intoned respectfully.

"Are you a Death Eater?" The question was meant to cause a specific reaction.

"No." Harry droned again, his eyes taking on a slightly glassy appearance.

With a piercing stare and a short nod, the potions administrator said, "He is fully under the effect of veritaserum, councilor." He re-corked the vial and returned to the corner of the room to observe the trial.

"Now..." the greasy-haired wizard continued with a thin smile of satisfaction on his face. "Where were you on the night of January 29th of this year?"

Harry stared vacantly out at a point several hundred feet away, unblinking as he intoned, "That is classified information, councilor. You do not have the requisite security clearance. I cannot answer the question."

The councilor's agitated scream echoed down the hallway.

* * *

In all his years of service, Sirius Black had never seen anything like the scene that lay before him: A murder at a well-warded storehouse filled with rare potions ingredients (most of which were highly illegal) and expensive items like solid gold cauldrons, and not a single bit of it missing. It was as if someone broke in, killed the man and left without even glancing around. If the killer HAD glanced around, surely they would have touched something. Anything.

Instead, the only evidence that someone had even committed a crime was the male corpse in the office at the southeast end of the building. His throat had been violently slashed, the blood pattern indicated that a hooked blade was used with an extremely forceful impact. The suspect was almost certainly male, as females tended to not have enough upper body strength to create a spray pattern that size. Of course, there was no murder weapon on scene. No magical signatures, no fingerprints, no evidence of any other crime. Not a single trace of the murderer.

Sirius rubbed his eyes tiredly. He'd been awake and on location for the last 20 hours, it was beginning to frustrate him. This was the lead he'd been waiting for, the one that would have led him to the bastard who managed to lock his godson up for a week. When his team finally arrived on scene, the corpse's blood hadn't even cooled yet. Whoever it was, they left just before they got there. If only they'd have moved in a few hours earlier, even a few minutes...

He shook his head to clear it of unnecessary clutter. There was no sense in playing that game; it didn't matter anymore when they had moved in. What mattered now was finding some hint, some seemingly insignificant clue that they could use. Sirius gritted his teeth and once again started his grid search of the back shelves. He wouldn't rest until they found that clue. Harry deserved no less.

* * *

Hermione poured the vile, smoking essence of rue down Ron's throat diligently, smirking slightly as his nose wrinkled unconsciously. She had been spoon feeding him for the last two days in between classes. It was nearing 10 o'clock at night; he was expected to wake up any hour now. More than anything, she needed him to know that she was there. That she had been watching over him. He was lucky that she paid attention in Potions class when Professor Snape went over various poisons and their effects. She hadn't hesitated for more than a heartbeat when her boyfriend's throat clenched shut, he might have died if it weren't for that bezoar in her backpack...

Repressing a shudder, she squeezed her boyfriend's limp hand reassuringly and picked up her book. She cleared her throat quietly and began to read aloud where she left off a few minutes prior, in the middle of an engaging chapter of Hogwarts: A History, on the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts and their contributions to the school.

Ron always told her that he liked it when she read to him, and if it helped him to wake up a bit quicker then it was the least she could do. Besides, she loved this chapter.

* * *

"In you go, Potter." Kingsley Shacklebolt was weary. Not tired, as that word applied mainly to physical applications. No, he was weary. It was the kind of mental and emotional fatigue that seeped into your bones and made every step a labor. As he chained the unresponsive Savior of the Wizarding World to the wall of his holding cell yet again, he fought the urge to free his charge from his limit shackles. As much as he loved being an Auror, sometimes he really hated his job.

Harry was not guilty. That much was becoming increasingly obvious to the members of the Wizengamot and himself. He still muleheadedly refused to answer any questions about where he went that night, much to the displeasure of Councilor Doyle, but Sirius Black had testified under veritaserum that Harry was on a mission at that time, and the mission was nowhere near Ms. Peverell's home. It wasn't even in the same city. Harry's wand had not cast the cruciatus, which Ms. Peverell was still suffering the aftereffects of, nor had it cast a memory charm. He somehow threw off the effect of veritaserum, a feat previously thought to be impossible, but the Auror was beginning to wonder what, exactly, sounded too farfetched for the Boy who Lived.

Kingsley shut the door with a soft clang, locking it mechanically and tapping the iron bars with his wand to reset the wards. His gaze fell on Harry, who had resumed his sitting position in the corner. His usually vibrant green eyes were devoid of emotion and he stared blankly out into space, like he had been replaced with a very detailed stone carving.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." He whispered through the bars, not expecting any reaction from the Boy who Lived. After a moment's pause, he turned to climb the stairs and was halted by a rough, scratchy voice.

"You are just doing your job, Kingsley. I understand." Harry's voice was completely apathetic and devoid of emotion.

Shacklebolt felt a spike of anger rising up inside of him. _Don't say that, Harry. Don't tell me you understand. It would be so much easier to do my job if you hated me for it. Merlin knows I hate myself enough right now._ Gritting his teeth at this irrational emotion surging through him, he nodded sharply and stormed out of the holding block.

* * *

"Are you still locked up down here, Potter?" A familiar, aristocratic voice filtered down the dank hallway into Harry's holding cell. He barely heard it due to his dull senses, even though he knew the hallway was only 30 feet long on that side.

Draco Malfoy walked casually into view; pale grey eyes reflected the light from dim sconces on the walls. "You look like you're enjoying your stay." he said. The sides of his nose crinkled as he sneered at his own joke.

Emerald green eyes locked onto the blonde Slytherin piercingly. "What are you doing here." He said quietly. This was an unexpected visit. He had not spoken to Malfoy since the incident on the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of term.

"I suppose you could say that I am ... gloating? It's been a while since I've felt this good. And I have you to thank for it, Harry." Draco grinned, his impeccable white teeth shining in the firelight.

The Boy who Lived looked deep into Malfoy's eyes, searching. What he saw there made his blood boil. "Don't." he said, his voice weaker than he remembered it being.

"Don't what?" Draco asked innocently, his grin widening.

Harry ground his teeth together. It was hard to get angry with his limit shackles on, as emotions were tied heavily to magic. He hadn't felt much of anything but apathy since he put them on. "Don't hurt them, or Death will be the last gift I give you." His green eyes, cold and hard as marble, stared blankly at the pale Slytherin. His voice sounded so nonchalant and detached, he might as well have been ordering from a menu at a particularly low-class restaurant.

The Malfoy heir blinked in surprise. As quiet as the voice was, it didn't sound like the Boy who Lived was bluffing. Merlin knew he'd killed his share of Death Eaters, and Voldemort on top of that...

Bollocks. Draco Malfoy had pulled one over on Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World. He had won, proving to himself that cunning always won out over brute strength, given the proper preparation. This trial would go on for at least another week, to ensure the Boy who Lived was given every opportunity to weasel his way out of prison time. That gave him an entire week to punish the mudblood and her two blood-traitor friends. He'd already poisoned one of them, poison that was already causing immense pain and that would reach lethal potency in less than 12 hours, and the other two would meet their own fates within the next four days, if all went as planned. So far, the plan had proven remarkably effective. He hadn't used a single contingency; it had all played out like clockwork.

Yes. The Boy who Lived had to be bluffing. At best, he wouldn't be released until it was too late, and nobody would ever be able to prove that he'd had anything to do with the deaths. "You're hardly in a position to stop me, Potter, not that I even know which 'them' you are referring to. They must be rather special to you; I'll keep that in mind." With another sneer, Draco spun on his heel and walked away.

* * *

As the blonde-haired Slytherin's footsteps echoed into silence, Harry fought the panic rising in his chest. His magic was aching to be released, but it wouldn't do any good. His loathed limiters were still wrapped tightly around his hands. All the same, he couldn't let Draco do this. Not to his friends. The enemy was mounting to attack, and he was being restrained by legal, physical and magical countermeasures.

Even through the dim haze induced by his limiters, he could feel his anger rapidly overcoming his sense of panic. He needed to get to Hogwarts, as fast as possible. Draco needed to be stopped, even if that meant breaking out of the Ministry of Magic. Orders were orders, but these were his friends. He knew what he had to do.

With a long inhale, Harry attempted to focus his magic. As expected, every ounce of magical energy that he tried to hold onto was expelled through his back as heat. Concentrating, he began venting magic out of his back as fast as possible.

The temperature of the magical energy projecting behind the Boy who Lived heated up, and subsequently began to melt the chains that fastened him to the wall. The refracted heat was nearly blistering, it burned the clothes off of his back in a flash.

Red hot chains melted off of the wall, half-freeing the prisoner. Now he needed to get these limit shackles off of his wrists. He didn't have the key, nor did his guards. It was on a steel chain that hung around his Godfather's neck. No time.

Turning towards the wall, Harry stretched his arms up and lay flat against the warm stones. Without a moment's pause, to keep from thinking about the pain he was about to inflict on himself, he bent his arms at the elbow and interposed his hands into the searing hot magical discharge. The resulting scream caused several shouts of alarm from his guards at the top of the stairs. Clenching his teeth and locking every muscle in his body, Harry forced himself to keep his hands inside the inferno. He could imagine his hands cooking as the skin bubbled, but his senses told him his hands were freezing. What a disconcerting sensation.

After ten seconds of this agony, the cell brightened in a rush of sound and color. The Boy who Lived felt adrenaline coursing through him for the first time in nearly three days. Bringing his hands down in front of his face, he stared apathetically at what was left of his hands. From his fingertips to halfway up his forearms the skin was completely burned away, leaving nothing but blackened muscle and sinew. That was going to hurt quite badly, once the shock wore off...

"What are you doing, Potter!" One of his guards, a relatively new one named Thompson, trained his wand on Harry cautiously, his eyes switching frantically between the melted chains on the wall and the disturbingly calm face of the Boy who Lived.

Harry turned towards the guard, a stern-faced man with tightly-cropped black hair, and said, "Escaping."

"Don't even try it!" The guard said, though he was more afraid than anything else. It wasn't every day that someone like Harry Potter told you he was going to break out of a Ministry holding cell. Merlin but he looked angry... It wasn't even supposed to be possible, the cell wards were far too strong!

"Where is the key." The Boy who Lived asked, trying to repress the feeling of weightlessness that seemed to accompany the recovery of his magical reserves.

The guard looked at his superior, then instantly cursed his mistake. Harry's predatory smile did nothing to appease his sense of guilt. "If you let me out, you can keep wards intact. You've got three seconds before I break them."

His superior was sweating profusely as he stammered, "M... Mr. Potter, you have to un-understand what you're asking... it's more than our jobs are worth!" Thompson wondered wildly if his boss was begging a prisoner not to escape.

"Three." The Boy who Lived brought his hand up ... _Merlin's beard, what happened to his hands?!_ He made a downward swiping motion, and the bars shattered into dust. The magical backlash from the cell wards being broken launched both guards backwards, knocking them clear off of their feet. When the dust began to settle, Harry Potter was standing over them. His hands were blackened and patches of bone were visible, but he paid them no mind. "Don't look for me. I just have some business to take care of, and then I will return. You have my word."

His superior appeared to be sobbing incoherently and in no condition to speak, so Thompson said fearfully, "Why are you doing this?"

Emerald eyes met his, and he shuddered. "I've got to protect my friends, Thompson. Surely you can understand that. Call Sirius Black and tell him to get someone down here to set new wards, I'll rebuild my cell when I come back." And with that, Harry Potter ran down the hallway and up the stairs, disappearing into the light.

* * *

No sooner had Harry cleared the wards that surrounded the Ministry of Magic than he apparated to the edge of Hogsmeade. There was no need to attempt to tear through the immensely powerful Ministry wards unless absolutely necessary, and nobody else tried to stop him as he left. He almost felt sorry for the poor receptionist; she let out a bloodcurdling shriek as he ran past. This was no time for feeling sorry, though: he had to get to Hogwarts.

"Accio broomstick." He said, wincing as the pain from searing his hands finally began to catch up with him. As quickly as it began, he repressed the signals his nerves were sending him. Running full tilt towards the main entrance of Hogwarts, his broom intercepted him after about half a minute and he hopped onto it without delay, rocketing quickly and silently towards the Slytherin Common Room. Steering with his knees was something he'd had quite a bit of practice with; he could probably navigate the halls without incident...

* * *

"You should have seen his face when he realized that I did it. His mouth was hanging open and everything, the stupid git looked like he was about to cry!" Draco sneered, the thick laughter of his two goons echoed down the empty corridor. Crabbe and Goyle weren't good for much these days, but they always laughed when they were supposed to. If nothing else, he could count on them for that. Rather depressing, if the blonde-haired Slytherin thought about it, but he tried not to.

"What have you done to them." A voice, as cold as death, emanated from the far end of the corridor.

The youngest Malfoy nearly had a heart attack as he recognized the voice. _That's not possible_._ He was definitely locked up tight in a Ministry holding cell when I left him_...

All the same, Harry Potter was walking steadily towards them, his broomstick floating several feet behind him. He looked barefoot. _Merlin's beard, what happened to his hands?!_ "What have you done to my friends." he spoke in a fervent, almost eager whisper. The killing intent was nearly tangible in the air.

Draco seemed rooted to the spot. His body felt three times heavier than he remembered, moving his legs would probably cause him to collapse. The Malfoy heir might have been hallucinating, but the corridor for ten feet around the Boy who Lived in both directions seemed to visibly darken with each step.

In a moment of supreme clarity, Draco Malfoy realized just how horribly wrong his plan had gone. He never should have visited Harry, never should have gloated. His greatest failing was that he needed to brag about his victories, but how could he have known this? In his wildest imagination, he never would have guessed that Harry Potter could be this frightening. It was akin to seeing the Grim Reaper, clad in midnight robes and carrying his unerring scythe.

Crabbe and Goyle were frozen in place on either side of him; he assumed that they were as scared of Potter as he was. Without a single word being spoken they both flew down the hallway as if struck by an invisible battering ram, skidding for several yards before finally laying still.

Draco felt his entire body go rigid, as if he was caught in a body-bind curse. Harry's hands hadn't moved, he didn't have a wand and he didn't say any words, it couldn't possibly be that! He struggled against the invisible bonds in futility. Panic ensnared his chest and snaked its way up to coil around his rapidly constricting throat. He felt incredible pressure on his neck, gasped as he tried to breathe normally. His heart rate doubled in the span of a few seconds. What was happening?!

Harry Potter had been through much in his young life, but he didn't think he'd ever understand why otherwise normal and average people fought so hard to make enemies. As he watched Draco flail helplessly, caught in his constrictor curse, he wondered: why did people do bad things, for seemingly no reason at all? Was it some inherent flaw in their character, or was it something related to their upbringing? What ostensibly random circumstances caused serial killers, rapists, child molesters, sociopaths? There was no benefit to be gained, that he could see. Therefore it made no logical sense why a boy as young and unskilled as Draco Malfoy would go to such lengths to ensure his own destruction.

A seed of doubt wormed its way into Harry's consciousness. Perhaps this was all an elegant ploy, and there were hidden observers watching? Or somehow he had given polyjuice to one of his friends and put them under the Imperius curse, hoping that he would kill them? The Malfoy heir had more cunning in him than Harry had originally suspected, perhaps this was all an even more elaborate stratagem designed to ruin him?

Just by squinting, he could tell that Draco was not under the influence of the Imperius Curse, and at the moment the Boy who Lived didn't care about observers. The entire Wizengamot could be watching, and it would not have bothered or distracted him. Harry Potter had been trained all his life to take care of problems. Draco Malfoy was a problem, a threat, and he was going to be taken care of in the only way the green-eyed Gryffindor knew how. Speaking of which, judging from the color of the pale Slytherin's face, the constrictor curse should have nearly asphyxiated him by now. Good.

The spinning heel kick crashed into the Slytherin's face with the force of a sledgehammer, propelling him sideways into the wall. He impacted next to a wall sconce, which he promptly appropriated as an improvised weapon. The blow seemed to have jarred him out of his choking paralysis and into a sort of fight-or-flight instinct. Flight was not an option; Harry was much faster than he was. Draco felt like a cornered animal. A hot, pungent liquid ran down his leg. He vaguely realized that it was his own urine. His breathing was shallow and erratic, he gulped a hoarse lungful of air desperately, willing himself not to pass out.

Suddenly, the WALL jumped out and rammed into him at incredible speed, sending him hurtling towards the ground. The impact left his vision swimming and the bitter, coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Draco had bitten his tongue in the harsh impact. What the bloody hell was happening?! He scrambled away, regaining his footing and gripping the wall sconce like a drowning man clutching his lifeline. "Stay back, Potter!" he yelped in a panicked voice, waving the flaming metal rod madly.

"Show me!" Harry shouted as his emerald eyes blazed with fury, penetrating and then forcefully ripping out Draco's memories. There was a good reason why mind rips were usually collected when the subject was already unconscious.

With an excruciating stab of pain, Draco saw all his plans flashing through his defenseless mind. The triumphant discovery of that exceptionally painful poison he'd already fed to the mudblood lover, Weasley. The binary poison he'd planned to dispatch the mudblood with, the parchment he'd treated and the inkwell filled with the catalyst. The hidden room inside of his trunk where he'd planned to entertain the Weasley girl. The alibi he'd crafted to avoid suspicion. The 4th-year Slytherin student who he'd chosen to take the fall should anyone get close to uncovering the truth.

All of it, all at once, flashed before his eyes. The agony was incredible, nearly as dire as the Cruciatus. A scream echoed down the hall, was that his voice? He didn't remember it being that high-pitched... it had to be somebody else...

The edges of his vision blurred, and then darkness claimed him.

* * *

Thompson ran a shaking hand through his short, black hair. He was still standing amid the dust and debris of the broken holding cell, being questioned yet again on how Harry Potter had managed to stage the Ministry of Magic's first recorded breakout. It hadn't even been an hour, and already he was beginning to wonder if the questions would ever end. He hadn't had it for long, but he was going to miss this job.

"Sir, it's him!" a plain-looking man with dark brown hair whispered fiercely to Kingsley Shacklebolt, causing his head to whip around quickly.

"Where." Kingsley asked, all business again as he drew his wand and walked towards the doorway.

A lone figure stood at the top of the steps. "Right here." Harry Potter answered the Auror, moving down the stairway quietly with his hands at his sides.

Shacklebolt didn't even bother raising his wand. If Harry had wanted him dead or unconscious, he'd have been made so by now. "Where were you, Potter?" He asked warily.

"I had to protect my friends. I brought someone back with me; please deposit him in a cell adjacent to mine. Here is the evidence I have against him." The Boy who Lived levitated a vial that contained several silvery strands easily recognizable as memories.

Kingsley didn't bother questioning Harry; he'd already proven that his word was his bond. Grudgingly accepting the proffered vial, the tall black Auror pointed at the ruined remains of his holding cell and said, "And just how do you expect to fix this mess, Mr. Potter?"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the hair on his arms began to stand on end. Harry was gathering an immense amount of magical energy, and Shacklebolt had no idea what it was going to be used for. A surge of panic fluttered through his chest as took an instinctive step backwards.

A soft shockwave of concussed air hit the Aurors milling about the hallway, causing several shouts of alarm from those that were not watching the proceedings. Instantly, the holding cell returned to its previous state of unbroken dankness. Kingsley watched in awe as the Boy who Lived recreated the wards over the holding cell, overlapping them intricately, one after another. It was like watching a master carpenter plying his trade. Thompson gulped and whispered, "Bloody hell..." Nobody made a move to intercept or even distract Harry, seemingly content to watch on in fascination.

When Harry finally released his magic, he nodded and said, "That should be sufficient. You should get the wizard who creates your wards to tie the holding cell wards to the primary Ministry anchors. They will be significantly harder to break in the future."

As the Boy who Lived walked into the open holding cell and hooked his bare foot around an iron bar to close the gate, Kingsley found himself thankful (and not for the first time) that Harry Potter was on their side. An inexplicable swell of pride swelled in him as the iron grate clanged shut with a dissonant note of finality. Without another word, the green-eyed soldier took his seat in the corner to await the verdict of his trial in the morning.

* * *

A week later, everything was back to a strange sort of normal.

Ginny, who had nearly been turned away at the door after Harry's escape and return, was finally admitted by a smirking Kingsley Shacklebolt, who allowed her to stay and visit with the green-eyed boy for nearly two hours before finally kicking her out. It meant he didn't get to sleep until 2 am, but some sacrifices were well worth making, especially considering the sacrifices his prisoner had made for him.

In light of the new evidence admitted that morning, namely Draco Malfoy's testimony under veritaserum, Harry was released immediately with several long-winded apologies. Draco Malfoy was sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban for rape, conspiracy to conceal a crime and the use of an unforgivable curse.

Ron had shaken off the last effects of Draco's poison, and was now wondering why he knew the 21st Headmaster's favorite candy.

There were whispers everywhere Harry went, mostly about him from what he could discern. It was nothing new; he'd been acclimating to the whispers ever since Ms. Peverell began her column. As he climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor Common Room after Quidditch practice one night, he found that it really didn't matter anymore what people whispered. He was back at Hogwarts with his friends, where he belonged.


	14. Positive Rapport

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

**Apologies for the long delay, I won't bother with my usual excuses. A delay this long will never happen again, though; that, I can promise you. During this exceptionally long delay, I went over each of the previous chapters and edited them further, adding and subtracting as necessary. If you haven't read the story in a while, I'd recommend starting over. If you're too impatient for that, then at least read chapter 12 and 13 again. There is a good amount of new material in my story; I'm much more pleased with it now than I was a month ago. To quantify the difference, the first 13 chapters of my story added up to 77,783 words before, and after re-uploading each chapter the word count is 78,797, after deleting nearly 3,000 words worth of author's notes. In other news, I'm completely excited about this chapter. It weighs in at approximately 10,500 words, my longest chapter posted on this website! I spent forever working on it, and I think it's about the best that I can come up with.**

**I know I don't have any right, but I have a favor to ask of all of you: I want you to scroll down to the bottom of the page and click the 'Submit Review' button right now. Keep the window open, and just read my story as normal. If you read something that's funny or sad or odd or great, write it down in the review window. That way, you can keep a running score (so to speak). I think it will help me a lot more than the usual method, and since I write this story to hone my skills, I think it's only fair that I ask you, the reader, to help me hone them. nudge nudge**

**Without further ado:**

Chapter XIV: Positive Rapport.

For Neville Longbottom, today had all the makings of another usual day. He woke at 7, as usual. He showered, brushed his teeth and dressed in his usual manner. He finished his Transfiguration homework just in the nick of time, as usual. Racing down the steps, he skipped over the trick step on the last staircase, and then made his way to the Great Hall and sat alone to eat his breakfast of cereal, orange juice and two sausages.

As usual.

How he hated the word.

Staring at his spoon, he examined his upside-down reflection in a rare flash of introspection. His round face was accentuated by the convex mirror in front of him. It was positively boring. Was there anything truly unusual about him, something that would stand out under close scrutiny? Was he destined to live this average, boring ... _usual_ existence until he left for the next _usual_ adventure? His Mum, who he visited every week at St. Mungo's, would give him empty bubblegum wrappers as presents. That seemed unusual. His parents were perhaps the only facet of his life that could be considered out of the ordinary, and he went to great lengths to ensure that nobody knew about them. He didn't want anyone to pity him for what his parents went through, to look at him with those eyes that told him their lives were more worth living.

More than anything, he wanted to be noticeable. He wanted someone to look at him and say, "There goes Neville Longbottom, the ..."

He shook his head, fighting back a melancholy smirk. The ... what? What did he want to be noticed for? The only class he excelled in was Herbology, and there wasn't much to talk about that wouldn't bore the bones out of most people. What _could_ he possibly be noticed for?

"Excuse me, Mr. Longbottom." A quiet monotone interrupted his thoughts. His head whipped around towards the voice, and he found Harry Potter standing over him. The Boy who Lived, complete with trademarked lightning-bolt scar, was towering over him. _Talking_ to him. His mouth was hanging open, so he shut it before he said something stupid.

"Erm... yeah?" He answered in a voice quavering from nerves. _Oh that's just brilliant, Neville_._ Way to impress the Savior of the Wizarding World_... "I mean, yeah, that's me. Hullo, Harry."

The green-eyed Gryffindor nodded. Unplanned introductions were always an awkward matter; protocol differed from person to person on what exactly should be said and what shouldn't. Still, he had promised himself that he would establish rapport with Neville. He was discreet and professional in the dealings that Harry had seen; he did not subscribe to the whispering gossip that pervaded the halls and he possessed a great amount of skill in the field of Herbology, which was not something he was familiar with. The potential, given a minimum continued social interaction, was obvious. Harry knew which plants were edible in the field, but magical plants were an unknown quantity to him. Since he was unable to take Herbology at Hogwarts, having Neville teach him the basics would be a suitable course of action. Perhaps that would help to build a positive relationship, but it is always best to start with the basics.

"My friends and I would like you to join us for breakfast." Harry said, motioning towards the other end of the table where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were located. They waved.

Neville took a few seconds longer than absolutely necessary to process the words Harry had said. "Did you just say you wanted me to eat with you and your friends?" He looked around at the conspicuously vacant area around him.

Harry nodded. "Affirmative. Is that an acceptable offer, or do you require some form of compensation?" He asked in his signature monotone.

Eyes wide at the thought, Neville shook his head vigorously. "No! I mean, it's sort of unexpected. Why me?"

"I find you to be discreet and professional in your interpersonal relations, and that is a trait I value highly. I believe you would be a welcome addition to my standard social network." The Boy who Lived answered, then added, "I also have several questions pertaining to the field of Herbology, which I'm told you are an expert in."

Neville practically leapt out of his seat, grinning ear to ear. "Look, Harry, I don't know what you just said, for the most part, but if you've got questions about Herbology then I'm more than happy to help you out!" Grabbing his plate, he eagerly followed the black-haired Gryffindor to the other end of the table.

* * *

"Harry, wait!" Ginny shouted over the din created by the usual breakfast exodus. Everyone was hurrying off to get to their respective classes before the bell rang, but a few well-placed elbows and more than a few rough shoves found her in front of the Boy who Lived. "Meet me at 6 tonight, okay? I have a surprise for you."

A rather pushy 4th year Hufflepuff shouldered by her as Harry replied, "Where would you like to meet?" He didn't like surprises most of the time, but if Ginny was involved than it couldn't be too bad, could it?

"Oh, wherever. I'm sure you'll have no problem finding me." She didn't know exactly where she'd be at that time, either in the Common Room, the Library or her Dormitory, but she really didn't mind him being up there anymore. He'd already seen her in her nightclothes, which were far more revealing than anything she'd worn in public. Maybe she was picking up his resistance to modesty. Merlin knew he'd been next to naked in front of her enough times to prove that he and modesty just didn't see eye to eye on a few things. Without waiting for a reply, she winked at him and disappeared towards the Entrance Hall for her Care of Magical Creatures class.

Harry, who was conspicuously _not_ being shoved aside by pushy 4th years, mentally translated the time and nodded. His abdomen was contracting rapidly again. He really needed to get clarification from Sirius about what the contractions meant, because the last time he asked, all he got was a lecture on 'wands' and 'holsters'. He already knew about those, as Sirius was the one who bought him his wand, and he was even wearing a holster at the time! Sometimes his Godfather made no logical sense at all...

* * *

As Harry once more transformed his ottoman into an otter, he conversed with Hermione about a suitable object to present to Ginny, as a token of appreciation for her continued efforts. At first, the bushy-haired Gryffindor laughed at him. He failed to see the humor in the situation, the receiving of a medal was among the most serious of ceremonies.

Apparently, noncombatants didn't usually give medals, certificates or commendations. Hermione informed him, in more words than strictly necessary, that what he was looking for was a _present_. She defined it as a gift, one that would apparently convey his thanks without explicitly stating what it was for.

"That's very thoughtful of you, Harry. Let's talk to Ron and see what he says." She scribbled on a scrap of parchment, then crumpled it up into a ball and threw it at Ron. The projectile hit him in the face, eliciting a startled noise from him. Hermione grinned impishly, motioning for him to read the parchment. It was an interesting method of communication, one that could easily be intercepted by a malicious third party. Harry decided to teach her how to use a corporeal patronus to send short messages. The range was much longer, and it was not susceptible to outside interference.

Reading at the parchment quickly, Ron turned it over and scribbled back a short reply, then tossed it back to Hermione. She caught it deftly, flattened it out and read the short reply. Harry read it over her shoulder. _Chocolate. The darker, the better. Keep your hands off my sister, mate._ The Boy who Lived wondered how the giving of a present would require him to have his hands on Ginny. Was there some tacit custom that accompanied this noncombatant ritual?

"Oh, that's a great idea!" Hermione whispered excitedly. "We can go to Honeyduke's on the next Hogsmeade weekend and pick out a good assortment with you."

Harry reviewed his calendar, which stated that the next Hogsmeade weekend was still 12 days away. "Negative. Commendations have more impact when they are delivered in a timely fashion. I will go today."

Hermione eyed him critically, and then nodded. "I'm sure she'll appreciate that. Here's what you do..."

For the next half hour, Harry recorded advice from Hermione on what gift to purchase, the proper method and timing for delivery and an object identified as 'the note'. Apparently, it was the only written communiqué that came with the gift, and it was crucial to adequately convey your message in the fewest possible words.

The first 3 suggestions for the lettering on 'the note' were shot down without preamble. Accepting the fact that she was far more experience in these matters than he was, Harry allowed her to Hermione to draft 'the note' for him. She finally settled on a short, but meaningful phrase. It didn't give a specific example, which was something a medal or commendation required, but it did say approximately what he was giving her this present in response to.

* * *

After class, Harry went up to his dormitory and prepared to exfiltrate the school. There was a short window, only about 20 minutes, where he could be gone without arousing suspicion. He always sat with Ron, Hermione and Ginny for lunch, if he was more than 10 minutes late then they would know something was amiss. According to Hermione, a present's efficacy was directly proportional to the element of surprise accompanying its delivery. If she expected something, it would not mean nearly as much as something unexpected.

Donning his invisibility cloak and mounting his broom, Harry flew out of his dormitory window towards the local wizarding community of Hogsmeade and his target, Honeyduke's.

Circling around to the rear of the store, he dismounted and quickly removed his invisibility cloak, pocketing them in a practiced motion before entering the store. Heading straight for the chocolate section, he scanned the lowest shelf for his quarry. After several minutes of internal debate during Transfiguration earlier, Hermione finally recommended a medium-sized box of dark chocolate truffles. According to Ron, strawberry was her favorite fruit. There were only 2 boxes of dark chocolate truffles that had strawberry flavoring, one was quite small and the other was larger than her specified dimensions of 5"x12"x1.5". Measuring the larger box against his hand span, Harry estimated the larger box was 6"x14"x3", double stacked. Deciding that more was preferable to less, Harry purchased the larger box and had it wrapped. The store owner gave him an odd look after reading what Hermione decided to write on 'the note', but acquiesced without quarrel.

After placing a weak cooling charm on the box to keep the truffles from deforming before he could present it to Ginny, Harry exited the store and returned to Hogwarts the same way he came: fast and silent.

Depositing the package in his trunk and placing a powerful locking charm on it, Harry flew invisibly through the packed corridors and arrived at lunch only 4 minutes after the rest of his friends had arrived. The mission thus far was a complete success, now he just had to give them to Ginny as a surprise. Perhaps there was hope for him yet, if he could successfully perform this task that noncoms seemed so proficient at.

* * *

At 1750, Harry put aside his Potions homework and checked the tracking charm he had surreptitiously placed on Ginny's skirt. She had told him to find her at 1800; it made no sense to wander around the school without direction. According to the direction his wand was pointed, she was in her room.

Unlocking his trunk and retrieving the gift, he shrugged off his robes and appraised his reflection in the mirror. He was wearing khaki cargo trousers and a short-sleeved black collared shirt with his black boots. When presenting a medal, one adhered strictly to dress code. He hoped his attire was appropriate.

Stopping to freeze the warded staircase, Harry gripped his present tightly and made his way up to Ginny's dorm. His abdomen was palpitating rapidly, as expected. He still had no answers for this phenomenon, but at least it was becoming much more predictable. Knocking twice, Harry stood rigidly, the present hid behind his back, and waited.

One of Ginny's roommates, a blonde-haired girl that he had not been introduced to, opened the door a crack. "Harry? What are you doing up here?" She asked suspiciously.

"I have not been informed of the nature of this meeting. Where is Ginny?" Harry asked in his signature monotone.

The Boy who Lived, and his affection for her red-haired roommate, were gossiped about on a near-daily basis. Ginny still protested that there was nothing going on between them, but why else would Harry be knocking on their door at 6 o'clock, if it wasn't to take her out for some quality time in a broom closet? Ginny was so uptight about the whole situation, her roommate figured she could use a good snogging.

With a wide smile, the blonde-haired girl opened the door for him. Harry walked inside and looked around. Ginny was nowhere to be found. Odd. Perhaps his tracking charm had been circumvented. He heard muted singing coming from the bathroom.

"Ginny just jumped in the shower, Harry. She said to tell her if someone asked for her, but I think it'd be a much better surprise if you went in and joined her!" Her roommate, who was wearing a necklace that read, 'Katie', suggested in a conspiratorial tone.

Harry nodded. Katie, who had spent the last 4 years living with Ginny, had far more knowledge of what would constitute a surprise. And as Hermione told him in class, a present is more efficacious when it is unexpected. "Understood. I will defer to your experience in this matter." He informed her as he turned towards the bathroom, present in hand. Katie giggled loudly as he tried the handle, which was locked. He looked back at the blonde-haired witch for further instruction.

"Go for it, Harry!" She whispered eagerly, making pushing motions with her hands. Nodding once more, the Boy who Lived turned and touched the lock.

* * *

As Ginny belted out a soulful rendition of Celestina Warbeck's, "You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me," she heard the door click open. She put her soap back on the tray and said, "Katie, what did I tell you about using the toilet when I'm in the shower? If I get hit with scalding hot water again, I'm going to hex you into next week!"

A distinctly male voice said, in a disturbingly familiar monotone, "Ginny, it is now 1800. Why am I meeting you in the bathroom?"

Ginny froze. Oh sweet merciful Merlin, that was NOT Harry Potter's voice, and it was most assuredly NOT coming from inside her own bathroom. She locked the door and everything!! She looked for something to cover herself with, but she had left her towel folded on the counter next to the sink...

The sliding door of the shower opened. "Ginny?" Harry asked inquisitively as he poked his head into the shower. His eyes looked over her curiously.

Her face contorted in frustration at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Nobody, in the history of man, has _ever_ been this incredibly, irredeemably _dense_! Not really knowing what to do in this sort of situation, she covered herself and screamed. Loud.

Harry, caught off-guard by the high-pitched sonic barrage, backpedaled rapidly. He tripped over the pile of clothes near the door and fell backwards into the main room. His head hit the granite floor rather hard, causing his vision to blur. Pushing himself quickly off of the ground, he staggered a bit before catching his balance. _What just happened?_

Ginny slammed the bathroom door behind him and screamed again, Harry could practically feel the rage radiating from her through the door. He didn't know what he did wrong, but she sounded angry enough to warrant his removal from the situation. Perhaps a retreat was in order.

Katie looked up at him apologetically. "I really didn't think she'd take it that hard..." She muttered, more to herself. She looked down in surprise to see the package that Harry was holding thrust into her hands.

Harry spoke quickly, just in case Ginny decided to take out some of her aggression on him. He really didn't want to fight with her. "Please give this to her, along with a formal apology on my behalf. I do not know what I did wrong, but she seems very angry at the moment and I would not want her to become further agitated due to the residual effects of my presence in her dormitory at the present time. I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you." With a curt nod, Harry left the room as quickly as decorum afforded.

Katie looked down at the box, opened the card and read:

_Your constant presence has been a great source of comfort to me through the last few weeks. Thank you for helping me to forget my problems._

_Harry_

Frowning in concentration, Katie deciphered the message. _Bugger_..._ I thought for sure that Gin would take that better_..._ It's not every day a girl gets to share a shower with Harry Potter!_ With a shrug, she dropped the package on Ginny's bed and sat back down at her desk. After all, she had a 12-inch paper on the Goblin Rebellion of some-year-or-another due tomorrow.

* * *

The next day, Ginny felt much calmer about the whole situation. She hadn't seen him at breakfast, which she supposed was a good thing. Now she knew she wasn't going to scream this time; she was just going to hex him into little pieces before he could smooth-talk his way out of it! Although, the thought of Harry Potter (the absolute _least_ romantic bloke she'd ever had the misfortune of being infatuated with) smooth-talking his way out of a wet paper bag was almost laughable. Or would have been laughable, had he not broken into her shower room and stared openly at her naked body. Any thoughts of laughing would be viciously stabbed to death in a darkened hallway.

Her blood pressure elevated dangerously as she narrowed her eyes maliciously. _Oh yes, I'm going to kill the bastard._

"Ginny?" A familiar voice called out over the lunch hour noise.

She turned towards the sound and saw a head of messy black hair making its way through the crowd towards her. _Speak of the devil._ Quickly whipping her wand out of her pocket, she aimed at the crown of his head and shouted, "Stupefy!"

A bright red beam shot out of her wand, heading straight towards the Boy who Lived. Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, ducking immediately as the beam shot over him and impacted an unlucky student behind him. The student flew backwards and crashed rather spectacularly into the wall of the corridor. He dodged a bright purple beam and moved behind a mass of people, trying to decide on a course of action. He really didn't want to fight her...

"Stop moving!" Ginny shouted, shoving her way through the mass of people at the green-eyed boy. She shot another stunner at him. It impacted high as well, thankfully missing the students behind the Boy who Lived.

With a frustrated wave of her wand, she banished the three people in between her and Harry. With a startled yelp, they were launched sideways to reveal the crouching Gryffindor. He looked up at her with wide eyes, his hands held up in a placating gesture as he straightened. "Ginny, I strongly urge you to cease your hostilities! Be reasonable!"

The youngest Weasley was in no mood to decipher his nonsensical phrases. He had to pay for his crimes! Her face contorted in rage as she jabbed at him with her wand again. "Don't you try to talk your way out of it; I don't want to hear it! Petrificus totalus!"

A blinding flash of light erupted from Harry's empty hand; causing several shouts of alarm. Ginny flinched and shielded her eyes, but as soon as the light started to fade she brought her wand back up. Confusion flitted across her freckled face as she bit back a curse. He was nowhere to be seen. She huffed in irritation, then pocketed her wand and stormed off to lunch. _I should've known the dirty wanker would turn tail and run_...

* * *

"I need your help, Ron." Harry asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the entrance to the library. It wouldn't do to cause a scene in here, and he wasn't entirely certain that Ginny would fall for the same trick twice.

"Harry Potter needs my help? That's new." Ron snorted, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his nearly-completed Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. "Let me guess: there's another Dark Lord gaining power, and you need my help to stop him? Or maybe you've happened upon a lost tomb that's heavily protected, and you need my lightning-fast spellwork to defeat the wards!" Sarcasm was rolling off of the youngest male Weasley in torrents, but Harry failed to find the humor in his words.

"Nothing that dire, I believe. Your sister is ... very agitated, and much of her anger seems to be directed at me. She attempted to target me with several curses that negatively impact my normal functions, without provocation. I am unsure what I did that would merit her rage, but I am equally unfamiliar with the standard process of reconciliation. How do I fix this problem?" His green eyes were inquisitive.

Ron stared hard at the Boy who Lived curiously. "Did you just say that my sister is mad at you? Did my sister try to _hex_ you?!" His eyes went wide as dinner plates, he sat bolt upright in his chair. "Bloody hell, Harry, you must've really done something... If you're wondering how to make her stop being angry at you, I'd say just do what I do: avoid her for 3 days, then pretend like nothing happened!" The red-haired Gryffindor grinned widely at his own brilliance. "It works every time, mate!"

Harry frowned in thought. The advice went against all of his training in problem solving, as well as following no logical thought progression. But Ron was far more experienced in these matters than he was. "Understood. I will defer to your experience in this matter." Nodding curtly, Harry turned around and walked quietly out of the library. He would need his invisibility cloak to avoid being detected.

Usually when he had a problem that his training hadn't covered in detail, he would ask Sirius for advice. For some reason, he didn't want to bring this recent string of events to the attention of his Godfather unless absolutely necessary. Upon further reflection, he supposed he just wanted to prove he could handle this sort of situation without relying on the busy Auror.

He had a few ideas of his own that he was going to implement in order to find an expedient solution to this problem. It now appeared that he had 3 days to implement those ideas, and he wouldn't let a single minute go to waste.

* * *

Harry marched quickly up to his room, formulating plans to deal with this standoff. Her secession from his standard social network was completely unacceptable. Regardless of her combat ability, she had become a very influential and important figure in his life. He had to negotiate, and he'd accept nothing less than the total dissolution of her recent proclamations. He had been well-trained in closed discourse and negotiation, this shouldn't be a problem. One only had to decide on a proper course of action and follow it through to its logical conclusion.

Before even coming to the negotiating table, you must know approximately what the other party will demand and whether it is in your best interests to accept their demands in exchange for your own. He would have to gather a significant amount of intelligence on that topic before he could approach her with his terms.

For successful negotiations, it is paramount that you establish positive rapport with the other involved party. This greatly speeds the process, plus the added bonus of allowing you far greater sway in your negotiations. This was a problem, as positive rapport would be the entire sum of the negotiations. At the moment, it seemed like Ginny was more on the side of hating his guts, which did not bode well for any closed discourse between the two of them. He'd have to find a way to work past that somehow...

There were several ways to facilitate the expedient, positive settling of negotiations. He could use a show of force to discourage dissent, relying on brute tactics and intimidation to gain support for his terms. Shaking his head, Harry dismissed that course of action. It was not his intent to intimidate Ginny, or to show her that he was more powerful. She knew already that he was far superior in a combat situation, and frightening her would be detrimental to their future social interactions.

He could use material wealth and possessions to curry favor among the other party: expensive cigars and rare bottles of wine, fast cars, perhaps even gold if the situation required something more drastic. That method wouldn't do; he already knew that she was unlikely to be swayed by material recourses. She would almost certainly consider it an insult, which would further impede his progress. He decided to keep that option open, but only as a last resort. Perhaps she would accept a new broom? Hermione recommended flowers, specifically a type that she had a strong emotional connection to. Ron had suggested irises, since they were her favorite. Harry recorded their comments on a new black leather-bound notebook.

Accurate, usable intelligence would decide these negotiations. He had to find out her terms, her grievances and the chances of settling this dispute without compromising his own demands.

The truth of the matter was that he had no idea what a suitable course of action would be or what was required of him to re-establish positive rapport with the opposing party. He had no idea what grievances and concerns she would bring to the table, he wouldn't have time to prepare his counterarguments or research as thoroughly as he'd need to present a cogent and logical defense. She would have him at a significant disadvantage, and Harry Potter felt more than a little uneasy at the thought of it.

He needed to gather intelligence, and fast. Fortunately, he knew a thing or two about intelligence gathering.

* * *

"When I finally came out of the bathroom, he was gone. I honestly thought he had changed, that he was finally starting to act like a normal human being, and then he pulls this tripe! It made me so furious that I ended up ripping my favorite pillow to shreds! I can't quite get the hang of that repairing charm; so he effectively ruined the pillow that's been with me through my entire Hogwarts career. He'll pay for that, too!" Ginny punched her open palm for emphasis, cracking her knuckles as she entertained fantasies of beating the Boy who Lived with a brick.

After several seconds, she continued her story. "So of course, the next morning he meets me in the Common Room as if nothing happened! He's mad if he thinks I'll just let something like that go..." Ginny ranted on for several minutes in the same vein, receiving sympathetic pats and remarks from her dorm mates. Katie was suspiciously silent, but the youngest Weasley didn't seem to notice.

Harry wrote furiously in shorthand, recording Ginny's diatribe verbatim in his black leather-bound notebook. It was quite hard to write upside-down, especially considering he'd been that way for the better part of an hour, but he had to avoid suspicion. As such, he'd donned his invisibility suit. It was a rather tricky piece of kit to acquire, consisting of an invisibility cloak that is tailored specifically to be worn as an outfit. It was a one-piece jumpsuit with a hood, veil and glove attachments. The only parts of his body could be seen were the soles of his shoes, which wouldn't be visible unless he decided to kick someone. He usually reserved this outfit for long operations in hostile territories, but there had rarely been a territory that felt more hostile than in this dormitory.

It was exceedingly difficult to write on an invisible notebook with an invisible pen, but Harry had been trained extensively in all aspects of intelligence gathering. Use the suit to avoid magical detection, since disillusionment was an easy affect to dispel. Write manually to avoid wards that scrambled magical writing devices. They were common in courtrooms, to prevent unauthorized copies of the proceeds from being produced, and one could never tell when the charms on an invisible quill were wearing off. His arm, on the other hand, was quite easily controlled and would inform him in no uncertain terms when it was beginning to tire.

He had placed modified sticking charms on the soles of his shoes, which enabled him to walk on the ceiling. The Boy who Lived was literally suspended from the ceiling, upside down, looking up at the bed below him. It was far easier to avoid bumping into someone when you walked where others rarely bothered to look. The high arches at Hogwarts were quite difficult to navigate, but Harry managed it well enough.

None of this would have been necessary had his electronic bugging devices worked. Hogwarts had wards that specifically nullified muggle listening devices. If the school didn't, he could have just place a few custom electronic bugs on her, then listened to and recorded her conversations from the comfort of his own dormitory. But if it meant gathering useful intelligence, Harry was more than willing to tail her for a few days.

Katie interrupted Ginny's rant. "Gin, you make it sound like you just want to be friends with Harry! I mean, if you want anything more than friendship it's inevitable that he's going to see some skin, isn't it?" She grinned cheekily as her red-headed friend blushed crimson.

"Look! I'm not saying that I haven't thought about that, but you just don't understand! It's not so much the fact that he walked in on me, I guess... It's more ... _how_ he walked in on me; like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it never crossed his mind that I might have locked the door for a reason!" Ginny bowed her head, mumbling the next part. Harry had to strain to hear her clearly.

"Maybe I'm reading too much into this, maybe I'm just being self-conscious, but I can't shake this feeling. I mean ... I always thought I'd have enough to get by in the looks department, but when Harry caught me with nothing but a blush on my cheeks ... I swear I felt like a bloke! Like he wasn't interested in anything he saw. Either he's gay, or I really don't have anything worth staring at."

She frowned, tears coming unbidden to her eyes as she forced a short chuckle. Scrubbing harshly at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, she muttered, "It's stupid. I don't know why I'm crying, honestly..."

Her roommates crowded around her, rubbing her back soothingly and promising painful, sticky revenge on the Boy who Lived. Harry's insides twisted painfully as he listened to Ginny sobbing. He'd heard people crying before, but it had never affected him like this. His resolve hardened as he vowed to do everything in his power to fix this problem with all possible haste.

* * *

Later that night, as Ginny shut off her light and crawled into bed, Harry made his way down the dormitory wall and onto the granite floor. He'd been up there for nearly 3 hours, quite a bit longer than usual. A side effect of remaining in an inverted state for prolonged periods of time was that one felt longer and taller than usual, along with a brief sense of vertigo as one's semicircular canal re-oriented itself with gravity. Harry was used to feeling vertigo, so much so that he could remain standing simply by sensing the angle of his feet on the floor and making minute corrections as his body leaned backwards or forwards. He had been well trained.

Ginny hadn't drawn the curtains, so the Boy who Lived spent the next half hour silently watching her sleep and making sure she wasn't just pretending in order to catch him spying on her. He was nothing if not cautious. Not to mention, it was surprisingly easy to watch her sleep.

After taking all reasonable precautions, Harry silently unlocked her desk drawer and retrieved the diary that she had written in shortly before retiring to bed for the night. In less than a minute he'd copied her entry for the evening into his invisible notebook in shorthand. Her diary would have insights not found in his observations thus far, and he vowed to study the material he'd gathered until a clear solution presented itself. He needed to know every little detail about this situation, because that one sentence or action could be the one thing that made him understand how to resolve this situation.

Quietly, he shut the book and replaced it exactly as it previously sat in her drawer, sliding it shut and locking it once more. Nodding grimly, he nullified the low-level proximity alarm on the door, exited the room and reset the alarm. Lost in thought, he made his way back to his dormitory to study his notes for the day. He was going to have a long day tomorrow, and it would only get longer if he didn't prepare for it tonight.

The first order of business was following through on the suggestion that Ron and Hermione had given him. Mounting his broom, Harry set out on his next mission: picking flowers.

* * *

The next morning, Ginny awoke to a strange sight. There, on the nightstand that she swore was empty last night when she went to sleep was a square vase with a single, silvery flower in it.

Sitting bolt upright in bed and clutching the pale blue sheets to her chest protectively, she scanned the room for messy black hair or piercing green eyes. She knew damn well who put that flower there, and she had no idea how he'd snuck into their dorm without setting off the proximity alarm she'd put on the door!

Finding no trace of the Boy who Lived, Ginny's eyes came to rest again on the flower. It was an iris, her favorite. She was borderline obsessive about the botanical masterpieces, actually. This one was an _iris albicans_, or white flag iris, judging from the color and size of the petals. It was an exceedingly rare flower, for this part of the world. They grew mostly in Northern Africa and the Middle East. If it was transfigured, it was the most realistic transfiguration she'd ever seen. The stem had been neatly severed at an angle, the smell was exactly right and there were even a few drops of dew left on the petals. It _had_ to be real.

Despite her vow to hate him forever, she couldn't help but be impressed at the lengths he had gone to acquire that particular flower.

Still, a seed of doubt wormed its way into her thoughts. _Why would he get me a flower? It's not like we're dating or anything_... She shrugged and got out of bed, padding across the freezing cold floor to the bathroom. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Ginny Weasley was officially pissed off.

Despite her best efforts to hunt him down, she had not seen Harry _once_ the entire day. He wasn't at breakfast, he wasn't at lunch, and if he was in class then he never left them. She'd attempted to catch him outside his afternoon charms class, but he didn't walk out of the door.

Ron was being his usual, unhelpful self. "I don't know where he is, Gin, maybe he's avoiding you."

The thought of Harry purposely avoiding her, even though it was quite certainly her fault if it was true, cut Ginny straight to the core. She knew she was a bit of a tomboy, and her rough edges had the unfortunate side-effect of turning men away, but she really thought that Harry wouldn't mind. She thought he, of all people, would accept her boyish tendencies. She knew she was violent sometimes, and she knew she was prone to start hexing at the drop of a hat, but maybe that was just what the Boy who Lived needed in his life!

_Forget it, Ginny. He's seen who you really are now, and if he has any sense in that thick head of his he'll stay away from you. Merlin knows you've already frightened a fair number of men away with that mean streak of yours._ Her conscience was pushing all the right buttons and she felt the anger seep out of her. She exhaled slowly; she couldn't be mad at Harry when she knew that she might've just ruined any chance they had together. Damn her and her Weasley temper...

She clenched her fists uselessly as she trudged to the Library to finish her homework. It was awfully hard to write 10 inches on the properties of the Wolfsbane potion when all you could think about was a certain green-eyed boy who likely never wanted to speak to you again.

Bugger.

* * *

Harry was sorting his collected observations into stacks, but something was missing from his plan. In any situation involving diplomacy, it's always best to have an impartial 3rd party to advise you on any decisions, to make sure you are not acting rashly. He would need to find one today and seek counsel, to help him focus the direction of his impending negotiations with Ginny.

After careful deliberation, he decided that Neville would be the perfect 3rd party advisor. He intercepted him at lunch on the second day, inviting him on his afternoon run. Neville, while hesitant, eventually agreed to meet him at the Entrance Hall at 5pm. _Whatever gets me as far away from 'usual' as possible, I'll do it!_ He thought, his muscles already tensing in anticipation.

* * *

20 minutes into the run, roughly one-third of the way around the lake, Harry stopped for a short breather. Neville, his running partner for the day, was red-faced and sucking down huge gasps of air. Regardless of how hard it was, he never fell behind. That impressed the Boy who Lived greatly, that determination to do what was asked of him. In fact, Harry had made quite a list of traits that he shared with the quiet Herbology genius.

Neville bent over at the waist and huffed short, quick breaths. Harry winced internally. He hadn't meant to run the boy quite so hard, and now he was going to...

As expected, the boy leaned to the side and puked on the side of the trail. It was a good thing he'd eaten first; otherwise he would have only brought up stomach acid. At least he had something to dilute the acid with. Harry remembered several of the countless times when he'd been pushed to vomiting in his training. It built character, his Godfather would tell him. Indeed, Sirius would puke right alongside him on occasion, then wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve, grin widely and start off again.

Straightening up, Neville wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and grinned up at the Boy who Lived. "Bloody brilliant. I haven't had anyone push me this hard since Gran signed me up for boxing classes!" With a determined smirk, he set off again on the trail. Harry stared after him, a small smile on his face. There were _definite_ similarities between him and Neville.

After the run, in which no more vomiting occurred, they both stopped to catch their breath by the weeping willow on the shore of the lake. They stretched out their leg muscles as Harry finally described the problem he'd brought Neville out here to help solve.

"A friend of mine, a female, recently developed a very negative image of my person. I fear that there may be long-lasting repercussions to our rapport. As such, I am in dire need of an objective, 3rd party advisor who can examine the situation thoroughly with a fresh paradigm that is not tainted with previously held biases. I have come to deeply respect her company, and any assistance you could furnish in that regard would be appreciated. I would not wish to be parted from her presence, and I believe you are discreet and experienced enough to uncover a solution to this crisis." Harry finished his description of the problem and was met with a blank stare from Neville.

"Look, Harry. I don't speak whatever language it is you just spoke, but I think I understood a bit of it. This girl, you like her, yeah?" He asked politely.

The green-eyed Gryffindor nodded emphatically. "Yes. I have a great deal of respect for her."

"And you did something that made her angry. Now you want to fix it, right?" He mused, already thoughtful.

"Affirmative." Harry answered. "I do not know what offense I have committed, but I am willing to comply with all but the most severe demands with regards to this matter. I would not choose to be free of her company."

"Well that's easy, then." Neville said, breathing a sigh of relief. For a minute there, he thought it was going to be a hard question. "All you have to do is this: Talk to her, somewhere private, and ask her what you did. When she tells you, say you're sorry, and tell her that you don't want to lose her. That's all you need to do." Patting Harry on the back gingerly, he stood up and grinned widely again. "That was a wicked warm-up. What else do you do for a workout?"

* * *

Two days later, Ginny didn't even want to get out of bed. She just wanted to lie there fluffing her mysteriously repaired favorite pillow, eating the strawberry truffles that Harry had so very thoughtfully bought for her and staring at the irises in the square vase that magically appeared on her nightstand two nights ago. Another iris had appeared yesterday, and yet another today rounded out the set. She'd checked with McGonagall to be sure, and they were definitely real, which meant that they were definitely expensive and definitely _not_ growing in Europe. She had no idea how Harry knew that irises were her favorite, and she had no idea where Harry had gotten them. They were absolutely gorgeous, and they did nothing to quell the insecurities she was feeling.

She hadn't seen Harry once since she tried to petrify him, not that she could blame him. It was doing remarkable things to her self-esteem, which had reached amazing new lows in the last 48 hours. She hadn't felt this bad about herself since Ernie MacMillan stood her up last year. At least that time, it wasn't her fault. This time, she'd scared him off all on her own. She'd managed to scare off the Savior of the Wizarding World. Maybe they'd give her an Order of Merlin, because something like that didn't happen every day.

It was bloody confusing. Harry was avoiding her as though she had a particularly virulent magical disease, but he took the time to gather these excessively rare and beautiful irises and put one in her vase each morning. It was almost nauseatingly sweet of him, and yet he was completely unreachable. What was he trying to say, and why couldn't he say it face to face?

"Why won't you talk to me, Harry? Am I not worth the effort any more?" She asked the irises, strangely annoyed that they didn't answer her straight away. Stupid bloody flowers...

Clutching at her pillow in frustration, she buried her face in the soft down-filled warmth and let out a muted scream. Three days without Harry and she was willing to do practically anything to have him back in her life.

Life was officially not fair.

* * *

Harry had nearly filled his invisible, leather-bound notebook with dialogue, diary entries and observations. He had been poring over his notes for the past 3 hours, and he was vexed. Some of the things she said directly contradicted statements made hours or even minutes prior. Other things ... they made no logical sense at all. Was it possible that she knew he had followed her? Could she have capitalized on that opportunity to spread misinformation that would hinder his ability to negotiate her successfully?

Harry frowned. After reading over his notes for the second time, this wasn't getting any clearer. She was easily the most difficult opponent he'd ever attempted to analyze. Still, Neville's words did seem practical. Perhaps honesty would work where subterfuge had failed thus far.

* * *

The next morning, she dejectedly poked her sausages with a three-pronged fork. Somehow, she just wasn't hungry. Never mind the fact that she loved breakfast, she didn't think she could eat with so many emotions swirling just under the surface. A shadow looming over her broke her out of her disconsolate reflections. She didn't want to look up; she'd already gotten her hopes up and didn't want them to crash back down to earth.

"I would like to engage in closed negotiations with you, Ginny. Will you come with me?" Ginny had never been happier to hear such utterly ridiculous words spoken in that signature monotone.

Biting her lip and holding her hands behind her back to keep from pouncing happily on the Boy who Lived before she had a chance to apologize, she nodded. She tried to act nonchalant about it, but she just knew it was failing spectacularly. She was positive that he could hear her heart pounding.

Harry wondered idly if Ginny was half as nervous as he was. He had no idea what was about to happen, that caused even his heartbeat to raise a few notches. If there was one thing he hated, it was being in situations that were completely outside his control. All he could do was attempt to reason with her, and hope to God that it was enough.

In what seemed like seconds to the Boy who Lived, they reached their destination: an empty classroom on the 3rd floor. Harry had been scouting it out, and knew for a fact that it was only used once every other day. Nobody would bother them here. After shutting the door behind them, he placed locking and silencing charms on the heavy oak and turned to face his opponent. This would prove to be a formidable match.

He reached behind his back and, seemingly from thin air, produced a bouquet of a dozen of the irises that he'd been leaving on her nightstand. Her heart leapt at the sight of them; she had to bit her lip again to keep from grinning madly. He still had a look of intense concentration about him, but she pointedly ignored it. At the very least, Harry Potter tried hard.

After shoving the flowers abruptly into her incredibly soft hands, he gathered his thoughts and said in a rehearsed, commanding voice, "I picked these for you, Ginny; I was told that they would assist in establishing positive rapport. I am diametrically opposed to your secession from my social network. I ask you to state your grievances and the terms of your unconditional capitulation."

She sighed, attempting to work through what he just said. He always reverted to this form of speech when he was nervous or feeling out of sorts. She sniffed the flowers she'd been given, which smelled lovely. After a few moments, she gave up and asked politely, "Would you mind saying that in English, Harry?"

The Boy who Lived was panicking. She had accepted his gift, but rather effectively parried his attempt at setting the pace of the negotiations, and now he was being forced to reword his carefully planned opening statement! What had gone wrong?! His ears were buzzing with all the blood rushing to his head. _Think, Harry. Think!_

He thought back to what Neville said to him, and in a snap decision he chose to go with that advice. In a voice that sounded far too fast and panicked, he said, "I want to know what offense I have committed! What problems have I caused, how can I fix them? I do not want to lose you. Please tell me what your problems are, so we can discuss what you would like in exchange for your friendship!"

The youngest Weasley didn't quite like the way that last sentence sounded, but at least she finally understood what he said... Vowing to explain at length some day that friendship was not something you exchanged, she smelled the irises again before answering, "Problems, you say... well for starters, normal people don't walk in on other people while they're showering."

"Why?" He asked in a quiet, perplexed voice. She didn't seem angry at his lack of experience in this field, nor did she capitalize on the weakness he showed earlier. Perhaps this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

She nodded patiently, expecting this sort of reaction. Her inner monologue coached her. _You should try to be a bit more understanding. He's just curious, after all. He was probably isolated from women growing up and simply didn't know how to react to seeing someone who didn't have their equipment dangling between their legs..._ "Well, it's a simple matter of modesty. Men might not care, but most women don't like to be stared at when they're naked." She offered a supportive smile, to let him know that she was trying her best to help him.

"Why would that be?" Harry wondered aloud. "I've showered with other women on numerous occasions. They never seemed overly concerned with their state of undress, nor with mine."

The smile slid off of Ginny's face as her blood turned to ice in her veins. Her empty fist balled up at her side. _I'm going to kill him_!

Immediately her conscience butted in. _No, don't blow up at him! He'll disappear for another 3 days... speaking of which, you should probably find out about that._ "Where have you been for the past 3 days? I hadn't seen you at all; you were starting to worry me." She chuckled nervously.

"I was avoiding you." He answered in his signature monotone. She covered her face with her free hand. _Just breathe, Ginny. Don't attack him, not when you're so close to getting this whole matter behind you. Just stay on topic._

Right, back to the reason we're up here. "Well, the people you showered with aren't like most women. I, for one, didn't appreciate you looking at me like that." _That was nice and gentle, way to go Ginny!_ She cheered herself on. _I can do this!_

"If it bothers you, I will never look at you again. That will prove to be difficult at first, but I have no objections to your terms thus far." He replied seriously.

She clenched her fists so tightly that they were shaking; her skin had turned white from the pressure around her knuckles. She was trying in vain to keep the frustration out of her voice and not crush the beautiful flowers in her hand. "No! I didn't say that. I mean, it's not like you can never look at me again, that's not what I want. You can look at me all you want, just _not_ when I'm _naked_!"

Taking a few calming breaths, she tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and continued, "It's quite flattering when a woman can see that she is appreciated, just try not to stare. There is the small matter of you scaring the living daylights out of me when you broke into my bathroom. You could've been some creepy boy..." She shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

"It's partially my fault, you know. I did tell you to find me at 1800, and I was in the shower at 1800. I should've remembered, but I also expected you to know better than to walk in on me when I'm in a state of undress. I'm still uncomfortable with the thought of being naked around people, especially you. That's all I want." She thought she'd done rather well, this time. There's no way he could misunderstand that!

"Right." Harry said, mentally replaying her demands. "Do not enter your bathroom in the future for any reason. Look at you, but do not stare at you 'like that'. Do not look at you when you are naked. Your terms are very lenient. I will comply fully. I sincerely hope my actions have not irreparably damaged our relationship." His piercing green eyes bored into hers; she could tell that he had thought long and hard about this. "Thank you, Ginny." _Negotiations completed._

Ginny's heart fluttered quietly as he started to leave. "Harry, wait."

He turned around and stood rigidly. "Yes, Ginny?" he asked, purposefully looking over her rather than staring at her.

Her face felt like it was on fire. "You have to promise me that what I am about to ask will never leave this room."

"Even under the threat or application of intense physical pain to my being, I will kill myself before betraying your secret." He swore; his face hardened as he resolved to keep his promise.

Ginny blanched. "That wasn't what I expected, exactly, but it's nice to know that you're taking me seriously." She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. "I'm not happy that you walked in on me, but ... what did you think?"

Harry stared blankly while he processed the question. "I do not understand the question. Please clarify. What did I think of what?"

A sharp spike of rage ran through her followed by a very deep, very serious silence. She took another deep breath, then another, and then tried again. "I can't believe I'm asking you this, but what did you think of my body? You know, without clothes on?"

No sooner had she said the words then her mind started screaming at her for her reckless behavior. _There's no way he'd know better than to tell you the truth! _She was already bracing herself for a short, depressingly monotonous answer. Every second he stared at her without answering was another horrid word he might say in that measured, apathetic voice of his. Each second was another twist of the knife he would inevitably stab her with. There was simply no way for her to get out of it: she had asked, and like it or not, she was going to get an answer.

Harry thought about it for a moment. This was exactly the type of question for which he had prepared no answer. What did she expect him to say? He knew what other men said about women, they usually said it to him when he was present, but it was always rather callous. If the woman was still within hearing distance, the comment was almost always followed by a physical or verbal attack by the woman. That sort of comment was probably not what Ginny wanted to hear. The honest truth had been remarkably effective thus far, perhaps that would work for this answer as well.

After another moment, the Boy who Lived said with a noticeable degree of uncertainty, "Your proportions are slender, but well within the normal range. Your upper body is not as strong as I think it should be, but your quadriceps and calves are very well-defined. You have noticeable striations in your abdomen, which most men find to be aesthetically pleasing..."

_What the hell does that even mean?!_ Her inner monologue shouted, trying to get her to repeat it out loud. She didn't want to move, in case the movement released the tears that were already on the verge of overflowing.

The Boy who Lived was certainly no expert when it came to the fairer sex, but as he summarized his thoughts on Ginny's natural form he felt like something was wrong. She was looking up at him with an expression so fragile and vulnerable that it seemed she was about to shatter into a thousand pieces. He was no genius with words, but he had to do better than that, and fast.

"I - that is to say, to me ... you are very attractive, Ginny." He finished, hoping this was a sufficient explanation of his thoughts on the matter.

The youngest Weasley felt warmth building in her chest and radiating through the rest of her body. Without really thinking about it, she jumped up and wrapped both her arms around the black-haired boy. She was absolutely euphoric. He thought she was attractive, and that was definitely a step in the right direction!

Harry, spurred on by his recent success, attempted to quantify his thoughts further. "You are one of the most attractive women I've ever seen naked."

Ginny didn't know how her hands found their way to his throat, or where she'd been hiding all the strength in her grip, a grip that was steadily squeezing the life out of the Boy who Lived. As he gagged, frantically tapping her shoulder in an attempt to convey panic without actually harming her, she continued throttling him with all the power she could muster.

"Damn it, Harry! You ruin _everything!!_" She screamed, her fingers clenching tightly around the well-muscled neck of the object of her contention.

* * *

The next morning, things were winding down. The Gryffindor Commons rumor mill was in full swing, one group claiming that Harry had killed her and replaced her with a polyjuiced comrade. Another rumor had it on good authority that she had beaten him into unconsciousness and he was using glamour charms to cover the bruises, because he was the famous Harry Potter and couldn't afford to be seen getting beaten up by a woman. It didn't matter much to the Boy who Lived, who was currently sitting across from, and staring intently at, Ginny Weasley. She was trying to ignore him, but blushing furiously under his intense gaze.

"What are you doing, Harry?" She asks pointedly. Hadn't she just gone over this yesterday? He wasn't supposed to stare!

Harry answered distractedly, a sure sign that he was processing a great deal of information. "I am examining you. I know that you fit the definition of attractive, but I don't know how. Therefore, I am attempting to quantify your physical attributes and use them as a reference for attraction. Hopefully, I will have a more suitable answer next time you ask me what I think of your body."

"_Shh!_" She whispered fiercely, looking around to see who heard him say that. The Common Room was quite full, there was a short, brown-haired boy sitting two cushions over from Harry, in fact, but she was surprised to see that nobody seemed to have heard him.

"The area is secure. I put a silencing ward over us so that we could discuss the matter without being overheard by an outside party. I will know if someone is eavesdropping." Harry stated, perceiving correctly the reason for her stress.

Ginny blinked in surprise. Now that she thought about it... she was strangely okay with being examined by him, as long as he was being honest about it. Nodding, she said, "Examine away, then." With a small smirk, she pushed her chest out a little bit more. Not that she was pushing her chest out before, because she wasn't, and she could lie to herself any time she damn well pleased.

As he continued to stare at her face, she smiled inwardly. _You're definitely learning, Harry Potter_.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, it certainly took me long enough to get it right! If you have any comments at all, no matter how trivial or unimportant they may seem to you, please tell me. I appreciate any and all comments, from, "I like this sentence" to, "Ginny is amazing" to, "Harry for Prime Minister!" Seriously, anything you can think of. Everything you can think of.

Click that little review button down there, yes you there, reading this sentence right now. Thank you for not giving up on my story, even though I take forever and a day to update at times. I'll write faster, and I won't quit until this story is finished!

Ben


	15. Tactile Communication

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XV: Tactile Communication

Huddled in the corner of his cell, the inmate stared blankly into space. The soft, echoing drips from the crack in the wall were maddening and captivating at the same time. The inmate liked to imagine that it kept him grounded, this constant aural dissonance.

It was ironic that he'd spent his entire short life listening to rich, complex orchestrated pieces that required years of study to fully appreciate, only to find beauty in the simplest of musical expressions.

Perhaps he was well and truly losing his mind.

It happened to everyone else in this particular pit of hell, it was only logical that it happen to him.

His hair was filthy.

He huddled further into the corner, trying in vain to retain his body heat. It was bitterly cold, and the night would only get colder.

Draco shook his head slowly and whispered in a voice weak and reedy from disuse, "I don't want to die in here..."

"And you won't, if you so choose." A new voice cut through the damp, cold air in his cell.

"Who's there?!" Draco cried hoarsely. New faces couldn't be a good thing... Were they coming to hurt him again?

A pair of piercing blue eyes appeared at the grate, speaking in a clear and gentle voice, "My name is Dr. Lucas Winters. I'm fairly confident that you've never heard of me, so my name is hardly relevant. What _is_ relevant, however, is whether or not you want people to know _your_ name." The corners of his mouth turned up in what seemed to Draco to be a soft smile.

"What do you mean? How did you get in here?" the blonde-haired inmate asked tremulously.

The man held up a small, silver ring, then tossed it casually into the cell. It rolled a short ways towards the shivering boy and tinkled softly on the slick, damp stone. Pointedly ignoring the question of how he entered a high-security Wizarding prison, he said, "I have the feeling that you know _exactly_ what I mean, young Malfoy. This is my calling card."

Draco picked up the ring and examined it. It was a basic design, but very precise and uniform. The only markings on the band were of an intricately etched snowflake. It felt gloriously warm in his hands, and he clasped his hands greedily around it.

"Hungry for warmth, are you? I can give you more that you hunger for; _all_ that you hunger for. How will people remember you, Draco Malfoy? Is this," Dr. Winters motioned to the cave-like appearance of his cell, "how you wish to leave this world?"

The blue-eyed doctor smiled wider this time, and there was a dark, sinister edge to it. "If you want your name to strike fear into the hearts of men, if you want to be more feared than Voldemort himself, then follow me; I will lead you to greatness." He held up his hand to the grate, and Draco saw that he was wearing what appeared to be the same ring, but his was pitch black.

With a curt nod, Dr. Lucas Winters walked away.

Draco didn't even notice the fact that no footsteps accompanied the doctor's departure; he was focused entirely on the silver ring in his hands. It heated further, bleeding warmth into his cold bones. He sighed in relief as his mind focused on something other than constant aural dissonance for the first time in over a month. For several long minutes he stared at the ring, turning it over in his hand and running his fingertip over the snowflake pattern.

With one last look at his dismal surroundings, a steady determination filled his slate-grey eyes. He knew it was a trap; that this ring could very well destroy him, but he didn't care. The last heir of Malfoy would not die here. He would have his vengeance.

He slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand, and it immediately constricted until it was too tight to remove. Draco fought the panic rising in his chest, fought to remain still as the ring heated to nearly blistering. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out as the ring seared his skin and burned its way through the tender muscles in his finger. His breathing came in short gasps as he fought to keep from crying out in pain. His senses were completely overwhelmed with the sheer volume of pain he was feeling. He didn't know how much longer he could stand it...

As if sensing he had reached his threshold, the ring cooled. The pain disappeared with the heat, strangely enough. His breathing was labored as he attempted to regain his composure. The ring was tiny now, a quarter the size it was only a minute ago, and it seemed to have fused with his finger bone. Even as he watched, the muscle, sinew and skin began to grow _over_ the ring. Soon his hand had healed completely, hiding any evidence of the silver ring. He examined his hand in wonder.

A voice rang out inside his head, one he recognized as belonging to the man who had just visited him.

_You have done well, Draco, and you should be proud of yourself for withstanding that amount of pain. You have a unique role to play, in that you will be my face to the world. No one will know of me, they will only know of you. They will fear you, respect you. In exchange, you alone will know my face, and you will serve me unquestioningly._

_Now I will remake you into something worthy of serving me. Count it an honor, for you are first among my followers. Brace yourself, for I am going to bestow my gift upon you..._

Draco was on the verge of hyperventilating as he braced himself against the inevitable onslaught. No sooner had the voice in his head stopped speaking than the first waves of pain ran up his spine, exploding into his head. His mind was being ripped into shreds, rearranged, added to. It was indescribably painful, worse than anything he'd ever felt in his life. He couldn't contain it, and his screams echoed hauntingly in the halls of Azkaban.

* * *

Sirius Black's office was a peculiar place, all things considered. He had a few pictures from his Hogwarts years, one wall carried a wide collection of books that he never read (along with a few he did, though they were disguised) and a framed copy of Witch Weekly Magazine in which he was the featured article. Everything else in the room was devoted to Harry. Harry's first broom, every last one of Harry's eighty-six certificates of commendation, at least fifty pictures of Harry on various missions... anyone who spent a minute in Sirius Black's room knew that he was immensely proud of his godson.

And yet, despite all of Harry's impressive achievements and accolades, Sirius had never been more proud of his godson than he was right now.

"So let me see if I've got this straight, Harry: you waltzed in on a girl in the shower, a _Weasley_ no less, while she was _showering_. She screamed, you ran away. You _ignored_ her for _three days_, and then said you were sorry. Now everything is right as rain?" Sirius Black's voice had an incredulous tone to it, but he couldn't fight the grin spreading across his face.

"I was not taught how to waltz, Sir, I just walked as I normally do." Harry replied, with a note of irritation underlying his signature monotone.

His chest swelling with pride, Sirius wrapped his godson in a giant bearhug. After releasing him and clapping him heartily on the back he said, "I'm so proud of you!"

The Boy who Lived wrinkled his brow in confusion. He'd known his godfather a long time, but there were still occasions where he was positively unfathomable. "Was that good?" he asked curiously.

"Harry, that was _brilliant_. I couldn't have done better myself! You silver-tongued stud..." Rubbing his knuckles over his godson's short black hair affectionately, he fought back tears as a strange emotion welled up in him.

For years, Sirius had carried without complaint the debilitating weight of his decision to train young Harry to fight. It was his choice alone to make, and he made the choice he'd hoped that both of them could live with. And they had! But ever since he defeated Voldemort, it had become exceptionally clear that his godson was not capable of just going about his life. He single-handedly brought about the downfall of the darkest wizard in the world, and yet he couldn't have carried on a normal conversation with a civilian.

He hadn't grown up like other boys, constantly surrounded by their peers and improving their ability to interact socially. Harry had never had a girlfriend, never even had a friend that _was_ a girl... never had many friends at all, to be perfectly honest. His friends were just Remus and himself, really.

Shame flooded him when he realized this, about a week after the final battle. He had been so focused on making sure that his godson would live to see the end of Voldemort that he had forgotten to make sure Harry was capable of living afterwards. So he sent him to Hogwarts, to give him a chance at a life he'd never been allowed to live before.

It had been remarkable seeing Harry smile for the first time; seeing the look of joyous exhilaration when he won his first Quidditch match, giving him 'the talk', hearing about his 'rapid abdominal contractions'... It was cathartic, and it gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, he hadn't ruined his godson's entire life in the name of the greater good, after all.

"Sir, my tongue is not made of silver, or any other metallic substance that could be confused as such. You know this. I do not understand." Harry's inquisitive monotone broke Sirius out of his musings.

Well, maybe.

* * *

Ginny had waited patiently outside Mr. Black's office for over ten minutes now, and she was never very good at waiting. Her foot tapped impatiently as her ire grew steadily.

"I said I wanted to visit your base, Harry, not stand outside Sirius Black's door while you two talk about Merlin-knows-what..." she muttered to herself, staring down at her new, and rather expensive, black leather boots. She'd gotten them to match her also new, also rather expensive black blouse, which was utterly _wasted_ when the Boy who Lived wasn't there to appreciate it! At least she'd gotten a smile out of him when she came down to the Common Room wearing her new outfit. That was something, considering just how hard it was to make Harry Potter smile.

They were supposed to meet Ron and Hermione at the Three Broomsticks at 1300- she caught herself and smiled- at 1 o'clock at the Three Broomsticks, which left them with a little over two hours to themselves. Alone time with Harry was not to be wasted in a stuffy office, especially if she wasn't even there!

The door opened silently and both men appeared. Sirius was the first to speak. "Sorry for wasting so much of your time on your day off, Ms. Weasley. Harry, show her around, will you?"

"Yes, Sir!" Harry said, saluting crisply.

In a bold move, Ginny looped her arm through Harry's and dragged him off, waving goodbye to Sirius. "Don't worry, I'll keep him out of trouble!" she called back to him as they disappeared around the corner.

"Ginny, where are we going?" the Boy who Lived asked curiously.

"Hey! Aren't you the expert? Show me around already!" she poked Harry in the ribs, which caused him to twitch slightly.

The youngest Weasley grinned widely. She'd been having a remarkably good day so far. Her hair had cooperated quite well, she had finally convinced Harry to show her around his base and she did look rather good in her new outfit. Even her emotionally abusive inner monologue agreed, for once! Yes, this was definitely looking to be a very good day.

The base was quite like a small city, complete with a shopping center, grocery store, video arcade and even two movie screens. Harry wound his way into the interior of a building, coming to a hallway with four doors on the left. "These are called suites. They're single-person rooms for people that have been here a while, with a shared bathroom between us. Edwards, Lewis, McGready... and this one is mine."

Ginny glanced up at him, catching the slight pause in his voice. For a moment, he almost seemed ... shy? She had never heard him talk like that before. "Well, shouldn't we go in, then?" She asked, suddenly feeling nervous. She'd heard stories about the boy's dormitory, how they left dirty magazines and used underwear strewn about...

Harry opened the door to an immaculate, spartan room with white walls. There was a small bed in the corner with a footlocker in front of it and a simple dresser next to it, and there were two handles spaced about a foot and a half apart attached to the ceiling. When asked, Harry replied, "They're for pull-ups." There wasn't a single poster on the wall, no dirty magazines or underwear in sight.

Ginny made her way over to his bed, sitting down on the remarkably hard cushion. It felt like a slab of stone covered in cotton! The dresser only had two items on it; a thin, worn out book and a simply framed picture. "May I?" She asked, reaching for the photograph.

Harry nodded. "Those are my parents, Lily and James, along with Sirius and Remus Lupin." He pointed out each of the people as he spoke.

Looking at the photograph, Ginny's eyes softened. His parents were dancing; laughing and so obviously in love that she wondered how any child of theirs could grow up not knowing how to smile. She looked around his room again, a new resolve burning in her to ensure that he didn't stay here. He deserved better than this.

"Ginny? What else would you like to see?" Harry asked, oblivious to her newfound pledge to keep him occupied and out of this dreary room for as long as possible.

"Hmm..." there were several places she wanted to go, but more than anything she wanted to go to the shop where he bought those White Flag Irises, so that she could buy one and have her mother preserve it. They meant quite a lot to her now, after their 'accident' a few weeks ago. "How about a flower shop? Do you have one of those on base?"

Shaking his head, Harry said, "Negative. I don't know where a flower shop is. I could look it up, if you'd like."

Ginny frowned, confused. "Where did you get those White Flag Irises, then? They don't exactly grow around here."

"I picked them." Harry said, suddenly quiet. He seemed almost shy again, which was very strange to Ginny. She felt the need to urge him on.

"Could you take me there?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course. We'll go the quick way." Holding out his hand, Harry helped her to her feet. In the blink of an eye, he'd turned on the spot and apparated with her. She felt the strange sensation of being pulled through a rubber band, but it was noticeably less uncomfortable than when her Dad brought her along.

No sooner had Harry touched the ground than he turned on the spot again, dragging her through yet another rubber band. They apparated twice more after that; by the time they finally reached their destination, Ginny was nearly sick from all the tangled sensations running through her.

Her sickness was soon forgotten when Harry released her. The temperature was swelteringly hot, but the breeze was cool enough to negate most of the heat. The brightness of the day made her squint, and when she put her hand up to shield the sun she gasped at what she saw: hills, as far as the eye can see, covered in flowers of every shape, size and color.

A pop beside them caused her to jump back slightly, and an old, pleasant-looking woman greeted them with a smile. "Welcome back, Mr. Potter. I see you've brought company this time! Hello there, my name is Madam O'Farrell, welcome to O'Farrell's Exports. We sell flowers, as you can see, and I've been after my husband for some time to change the name to O'Farrell's Flowers, it sounds better, doesn't it? Got a nice ring to it, I say, and it'd keep people from wasting their time asking us if we sell anything else..." The woman said this all quite fast in a hard-to-place dialect; Ginny had a hard time following her.

"Hello Mrs. O'Farrell. This is Ginny Weasley. She wanted to see the place where I got those White Flag Irises a few weeks ago."

With a knowing smile Mrs. O'Farrell said, "Aren't they wonderful? I'm quite fond of them, too! Of course, my husband..."

Whatever her husband thought of them, Ginny didn't particularly care. She interrupted, "You don't suppose I could buy one of those, do you? I wanted one for my Mum, you see..."

"Absolutely not! I'd never charge a friend of Harry Potter's!" The woman looked scandalized, as if she'd been called a thief. She pulled out her wand and aimed it over Ginny's shoulder, making a flicking motion and then muttering gruffly, "_Accio!_"

A White Flag Iris, with the stem cut quite precisely, flew into her outstretched hand, and she promptly handed the beautiful flower to Ginny with a kindly smile on her face. "There you go, dear. I hope your mother enjoys it."

She turned to go, then whirled around again and said, "Oops!" With a tap of her wand, a small bubble encased the flower, almost causing Ginny to drop it. "It's going to dehydrate a bit if you take it back by portkey, floo or apparition, this should keep the wilting to a minimum, you'll hardly notice it."

Before Ginny could even thank her, the old lady disapparated with a small crack. "Thanks..." she said to nobody in particular, feeling the need to say the word despite her departure. What an odd bird, not to mention... "Harry, she mentioned magical dehydration, how did you keep mine looking fresh?"

In his now recognizably reticent voice, "I decided not to travel by portkey, floo or apparition on the return trip, in an effort to preserve the flower's aesthetic integrity." Harry sounded almost embarrassed to tell her that. Why?

After waiting for a few long moments for a better answer, Ginny prodded him along. "So how did you travel, then?"

Harry muttered something short and unintelligible under his breath, looking at something off to the right.

Ginny poked him in the chest and said, "Hey, look at me. How did you get back?" Idly, she wondered what on earth he could be so shy about. He _had_ walked in on her naked in the shower, a thought which still brought a flush to her cheeks, but he was embarrassed to say how he got her flowers. How barking mad was that?

Making eye contact again, the Boy who Lived said more forcefully, "I said I flew. I flew the return trip. Should we go back to Hogsmeade now?"

The green-eyed Gryffindor was getting better at speaking normally, but he had a lot to learn about changing the topic, and she'd learned quite a bit about the fine art of interrogation since Harry Potter boarded the Hogwarts Express.

"Where are we, Harry?" Ginny asked in a level tone that promised a great deal of pain, should her query remain unanswered.

After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Outside _Las Palmas de Gran Canarios,_ the capital city of the island of _Grand Canaria_ in the Canary Islands."

Ginny blinked, gaped, and then blinked again. "Harry, that's... a long ways away. That's a _really_ long ways away." She looked around, taking in the sights. They were indeed overlooking a rather large resort city. Never in her life had she been this far from home, and Harry had managed it in about ten seconds. It figured.

"A little over 4,000 miles." Harry offered. "Yes, it's quite a distance. Are you thirsty? " He reached for her, apparently trying to apparate them back to Hogsmeade.

She took a step back and asked desperately, "And how in the name of Merlin's baggy Y-fronts did you manage to fly 4,000 miles in a night?!" There was just no way this was possible. They didn't make brooms that fast.

"My new broom tops out at around 600 miles per hour, due to a modified air repelling charm on the nose and extendable, forward-swept wings mounted in the tail. I overshot by a few hundred miles on the first night, but the second night I managed the trip in six and a half hours." Harry looked quite uncomfortable, now, but hadn't yet reverted to his monotone. That was a rather promising sign for Ginny, all things considered.

_The second night_... _six and a half hours_... Ginny's heart sank with the realization. He had flown back with a single flower in his hand every night she was angry with him; a full dozen the night before they 'engaged in closed negotiations.' While she and her dorm mates were cursing his existence, Harry Potter was visiting the _Canary Islands_ to pick her a flower, and he _flew it back_, 'preserving the flower's aesthetic integrity' so it wouldn't look wilted in the morning when she woke up. She thought he'd been ignoring her, avoiding her, but he'd been doing so much just to make her happy, so much that she'd never even thought to ask about...

Ginny Weasley felt positively wretched; she didn't deserve him. He had sacrificed so much for her sake, even after she tried to hex him, and she hadn't even noticed... Her whole body slumped with the thought, but the Boy who Lived grabbed her by the shoulders and righted her again with a shake.

"You weren't supposed to know!" Harry said fiercely, his piercing green eyes boring into hers. "I didn't do it to make you feel worse; I did it to make you happy! I did it because the thought of you being angry made me want to do whatever it took to make it right."

Running a hand through his short, black hair – which Ginny recognized now as a sign of frustration – he continued, "Besides, a few nights of sleep is a small price to pay to see you smile, and –"

Whatever he was going to say next was lost as Ginny dropped the flower she'd been holding, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Harry had not been trained for this sort of situation, so he wrapped his arms around her slender frame to support her weight better and just ... stood there. The most incredible sensations were flooding his system in torrents; it could have easily been described as euphoric. _Wow_.

Closing his eyes, Harry reached out and touched Ginny's mind lightly, finally moving his mouth and evaluating her physical and emotional reactions to his movements. If he sensed that something made her feel good he kept doing it, modifying and adding to it as he discovered what she liked.

Ginny continued kissing him with giddy abandon, never mind that he was absolute rubbish at it. He had been absolute rubbish at a lot of things. He'd get the hang of it in no time, just like everything else he'd picked up over the last few months... She would have hated him for it, if she didn't reap most of the benefits.

As the first minute ran into the second, (which she promptly lost track of, due to his rapidly improving abilities) Ginny's mind wandered where it wandered altogether too often these days.

Harry Potter was an enigma: absolutely hopeless most of the time, but he could do and say the most amazingly romantic things without even knowing how amazing they were. He'd accidentally drink your orange juice at breakfast, and the next morning he would have an entire bowl full of ripe oranges ready to squeeze into your goblet. When you didn't show up at dinner because you were studying for a huge Transfiguration exam the next morning, he'd sneak up your favorite foods and patiently explain things that he probably learned when he was eight years old and hadn't needed since, then give you a five-star, Merlin-help-me-but-his-hands-are-magical back massage to help you get to sleep.

No matter how rigid and uninformed the Boy who Lived could be on occasion, he really was a brilliant bloke... and it was high time he knew how thankful she was. So here she was: standing on a hill, surrounded by rare and astonishingly fragrant flowers, overlooking a city in the Canary Islands, on her tip toes and _kissing Harry Potter (the Savior of the Wizarding World, perhaps you've heard of him?) for all she was worth_.

She would have giggled at the thought, had her attention not been fully occupied with expressing the full extent of her affection for the green-eyed Gryffindor.

Life was good. Life was _very_ good.

* * *

Ron and Hermione were already seated by the time Harry and Ginny made it to the Three Broomsticks. The place was packed, and it took more than a little effort to get to the corner where their friends were.

As they got comfortable in the booth, Ginny grabbed his hand surreptitiously beneath the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Harry flashed a small smile just as Hermione asked, "So, what have you two been up to all morning?"

Ginny grinned like a Cheshire cat, and Harry looked at her, silently asking for direction on what exactly to tell them. Ginny picked up his hand in hers and slung his arm over her shoulders, then grinned cheekily up at him and said it was okay to tell them.

Harry nodded and said, "We spent an inordinate amount of time practicing, actually. Ginny taught me several new systems relating to tactile interpersonal communication that I was previously unfamiliar with, and I found it very relaxing and enjoyable. Oddly enough, air management proved to be more difficult than I had previously imagined. It's something I look forward to working on."

Hermione grinned widely at this. "Couldn't have said it better myself, Harry. Congratulations. Ginny, how did you like teaching Harry these new ... systems?" She barely suppressed a chuckle as she finished her sentence, and then almost everyone burst out laughing.

_Almost_ everyone.

Ronald Bilius Weasley was vexed, and most certainly _not_ smiling or laughing madly at this new turn of events.

Wherever Harry had been with his baby sister, something had happened. Something that made her put his arm around her shoulders. Even worse, when Harry said ... whatever it was that he just said, Hermione started grinning like a loon. That was bad, because it meant that whatever Harry and his sister had done, they didn't want him, her caring and insightful older brother, to know. And that, naturally, meant only one thing: they were getting close. Too close.

You see, it was Ron's brotherly duty to ensure that any 'potential' boyfriends were threatened with severe and immediate physical violence, should their 'potential' attempt to realize itself one night. His was an old and glorious profession, stretching across the continents, reaching back to innumerable generations of older brothers, and he had always been exceptionally good at his job. In fact, he hadn't run into a potential boyfriend yet that couldn't be persuaded otherwise with the liberal application of wanton brutality.

The only problem was, simply, that this 'potential' boyfriend had an impossibly, ridiculously large amount of 'potential'. The boy in question, of course, was none other than the vanquisher of Dark Lords, the catcher of snitches, the bane of Malfoys, the speaker of monotone, the Boy who Lived, the defender of the Wizarding World and quite possibly the next Merlin (if he could grow a decent beard), Harry "sunshine-blows-out-of-my-arse" Potter.

Ron didn't doubt for a single moment that this boy was capable of single-handedly stomping the entire school's collective ass (faculty included) well into the next century. Suddenly, having five older brothers to rely on didn't seem like much of a consolation.

Coincidentally enough, he just so happened to be this boy's best mate; and since best mates just don't go around threatening each other with wanton brutality and painful, debilitating injuries...

Ronald Bilius Weasley was vexed.

This was indeed a conundrum of epic proportions, and he couldn't possibly be expected to ascertain the proper course of action with only a minute's thought. This would take time and many, many owls of correspondence between him and his fellow brothers.

Hermione glanced over at Ron, who had gone into one of his 'older brother' broodings. She'd have to have a talk with him about that before he did something he'd regret, like opening his mouth. It was one of the things that she adored about him, his fierce, relentless loyalty, but all too often it was directed in entirely the wrong way...

Harry spent the rest of the Hogsmeade trip drinking, talking and laughing. Ron dragged him into Zonko's, but when an errant filibuster firework caused the Boy who Lived to blow up a nearby display case, they were politely asked to leave.

As the green-eyed Gryffindor trudged up the hill towards the familiar outline of Hogwarts, he couldn't help but feel as if he was going home. It was, he decided after little deliberation, a very good day.


	16. A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XVI: A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement

_Dear Ronald,_

_We have reviewed your request for assistance in the matter previously discussed, and after much (very little, actually) deliberation we have decided not to embark on what is most certainly a suicide mission in the making. We also fully intend to have your mental stability examined by the first competent medi-witch we can find._

_If you are dead-set (emphasis on the 'dead', mind you) on getting in Harry's way, then I'd suggest you talk to that girlfriend of yours before you do something irredeemably stupid, like actually get in Harry's way. Honestly, Ronald, how daft can you be?_

_With love and the promise of flowers (sunflowers) at your funeral,_

_~Twin 1 and Twin 3.14159_

Ron crumpled the parchment angrily, tossing it in the bin as he bit off a few choice curses. He didn't expect them to come straight away to help him, of course, but this was definitely not the sort of letter he thought he'd have gotten from his older brothers. They were the ones who taught him everything he knew about intimidating Ginny's boyfriends, after all.

And they _knew_ he hated it when they called him Ronald. That was just uncalled for.

Scratching his head irritably, Ron leaned back against his pillow and waited for sleep to claim him. It didn't help that Harry hadn't yet returned from his twice-weekly study session with his sister.

Studying, was it?

* * *

"I believe Edwards is well-equipped to handle this mission, Sir." Harry looked up from the mission docket and nodded to his Godfather. Sunlight filtered through the charmed glass behind Sirius' chair, illuminating the bright red cover of the docket that read simply, "CLASSIFIED – EYES ONLY"

Sirius' eyebrows rose until they were hidden behind his bangs. "Of course he is," he said in a measured, calculating voice, "I just wanted you to have first crack at it, that's all. Is something important going on at Hogwarts tonight, then?" A mischievous twinkle lit in his eyes as he took the file back from the green-eyed Gryffindor.

"Nothing you would call important, just a small meeting." Harry said, his eyes roaming around his Godfather's office.

The twinkle in Sirius' eye grew as his mind spun with the possibilities. _Turning down a mission for a 'small meeting', when he's never turned down a single mission in his entire life. Avoiding eye contact. That means_... _Harry Potter is lying to me and it's about a girl! Yes!!_

Without warning, he enveloped his Godson in a tight hug. "Oh, Prongslet, I never thought I'd see the day..." He sniffed theatrically, squeezing the Boy who Lived as tightly as he could manage.

Harry, who felt his bones creaking under the stress of his Godfather's hug, said in a defeated voice, "It's not what you think, Sir."

"It's exactly what I think." Sirius said with a soft chuckle. "Your father would be proud, Harry."

The Boy who Lived just sighed softly, patting Sirius on the back awkwardly as his godfather pretended to cry. Sirius was so melodramatic sometimes, honestly. It was just a recon mission, and an easy one at that. It confused him, though. He'd never turned down a mission before. If he had to choose between life and the mission, it had always been an easy choice to make. The mission came first, every time. But he wanted out of this one. A hundred excuses popped up in his head the minute Sirius handed him the mission docket, and he'd never made an excuse for anything before.

Surprisingly, Harry realized that he felt relieved when his Godfather happily (too happily, he thought) agreed to pass the mission off to Edwards. More than that, however, he felt like he had let himself down.

* * *

When Hermione finally agreed to go out with Ron in 4th year, a few concessions had to be made. Chief among them was that they were from this point on forbidden from shouting at each other. When they needed to disagree vehemently, it was done on scraps of parchment. It was silent, which saved them from the embarrassment of other people hearing about their issues, it took time, which allowed them to fully articulate their points, and you had to look at what you wrote before you sent it, which prevented them both from saying things that they'd later regret. All in all, it was a very effective method of arguing. Effective for them, anyway.

After proofreading what she had written on her scrap, she balled it up and tossed it to Ron, who was waiting impatiently on the couch across from her in the Gryffindor Common Room. He snatched it out of the air and flattened it out hastily, then almost immediately began scribbling a reply in his tight, messy scrawl. She sighed contentedly. Fighting with him had lost much of its sting when it was done this way.

It was quite possibly the best idea she'd ever had. _And that,_ Hermione thought with a self-indulgent smirk, _was _saying_ something._

She deftly caught Ron's reply and unfolded it.

**R: I'm not trying to prevent my baby sister from being happy! I just want what's best for her, even if she can't see it at the time.**

_H: And you'd know what's best for her?_

**R: Yes! I'm her older brother, and it's my perogative to decide if a bloke is up to scruff.**

_H: Prerogative, dear. Good word choice. Are you telling me that Harry Potter (he's the __Savior of the Wizarding World__, remember? Just in case you somehow forgot that since the last time we had this conversation) isn't 'up to scruff'? You're barking mad, Ronald._

**R: Don't call me Ronald, Hermi! And I'm not saying that Harry isn't a great bloke, I just don't know if he's the best fit for my baby sister!**

_H: Honestly, Ron, it's not your decision to make anymore. She's serious about this, and you need to respect that. If they're not a good fit, they'll decide that on their own._

**R: But what if he hurts her?**

_H: You've hurt me before. I got over it, so will she._

**R: You know I'd never hurt you on purpose. It was an accident, and I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I need to say that before you believe me, but I swear it.**

_H: I know, Ron. I was just using it as an example. I'm just saying if I can get over it, so can she. Besides, if anyone gets hurt out of this, I'd think it would be Harry. She's a very strong girl, so have a bit more faith in her. Just let them figure out where they want to go with this, and support them in their decision. That's all I'm asking._

**R: I don't have to like it, though, right? I mean, I don't have to act like I enjoy what they're doing?**

_H: Thanks. I love you too._

**R: I just wish I knew what they were doing up there...**

_H: Hush, Ronald._

* * *

Ginny cleared her throat and started, "Okay Harry, tonight's lesson is the second in a series on 'Nonessential Dialogue', the focus will be on the suitable application of 'tacit social contracts'. Any questions on the previous lesson before we begin?" Once again, the diminutive redhead thanked Hermione for helping her outline these lesson plans. She would never have put together such long strings of words on her own, after all. Whatever helped Harry 'integrate on a fundamental social level' with the rest of wizardkind, she would do it happily.

And yes, getting to spend two nights a week completely alone with the Boy who Lived had _everything_ to do with it. She'd given up on lying to herself. Fighting a battle with one's inner monologue, which by default already knew when one was lying, was downright depressing.

After Harry shook his head and prepared himself for note taking, Ginny cleared her throat and read directly from the outline Hermione had prepared for her. "Tacit social contracts are primarily related to two important factors: circumstance and motivation. What circumstances affect an interaction before words are spoken? What motivation does the other party have to behave a certain way towards you, and how strong is that motivation?" Bless that brilliant, bushy-headed angel.

* * *

After speaking for nearly twenty minutes on the subject, it was time for Ginny's favorite part of the evening: class discussion. It consisted of her laying face-down on the ever-so-comfortable massage table and getting a world-class back massage while Harry picked her brain on the night's lesson. If giving massages were an Olympic event, Ginny had no doubts that Harry would walk away with a gold medal. Or he would have walked away with it, if he were ever allowed to keep any of the medals he had earned.

She was quite bitter about that, despite his continued insistence that the physical tokens of his already impressive list of deeds were meaningless to him. Poor, silly Harry. He actually believed that load of rubbish. Ginny had never received a medal for anything in her entire life, which might have been part of the reason she was so fundamentally opposed to the idea of Harry's ambivalence towards all things bright and shiny.

It was worth noting, however belated the fact may have been, that she was almost completely naked while these back massages were taking place. A towel was draped over her bum, but that was more for her sake than Harry's. Other than that, she was as bare as the day she was born. Ginny recently realized how much of her modesty had been lost simply by being around Harry. The Boy who Lived was easily more comfortable in his birthday suit than anyone she'd ever met.

She still didn't know quite what to make of his complete and utter indifference towards her state of undress, but she did know that it was maddening to spend an hour nearly naked in front of a bloke and not have a reaction to show for it. Not even an 'accidental' slip to show for all her hard work. Damn frustrating, that.

While she still didn't feel like he was captivated by her sex appeal, she did feel completely comfortable with her own body now. Yes, totally comfortable. He had certainly rubbed off on her.

Well, _that_ wasn't an indicator of some serious, pent-up sexual frustration... She buried her head in her pillow, trying in vain to hide her rapidly blushing face. Okay, so she wasn't quite as comfortable as she thought. It was just the two of them alone in the Room of Requirement, she was so close to naked that it was more a philosophical debate than anything. She was 15, and her hormones were raging. There was a golden snitch thrashing madly about in her stomach. She wasn't expecting some scene out of a trashy romance novel, but was it too much to ask for him to be just a little more interested in her body? Honestly, what was she supposed to think in a situation like this?!

It wasn't bloody fair that she could get so worked up over a situation that consistently failed to even elevate his pulse. Damn him and his eunuch-like fortitude!

* * *

Harry, sensing Ginny's rising tension, gently rubbed circles with his thumbs at the base of her neck. With a sigh, she melted back into the pillow. Good. Perhaps now was a good time to start asking questions. "You described the levels of intimacy as acquaintance, mate, girl or boyfriend, best mate and spouse, in ascending order. For me, what would be the difference between a girlfriend and a best mate?"

Ginny's pulse shot upward again. Damn, just as she was getting calmed down... Did he actively search out the most embarrassing possible questions, or did he just have a talent for doing it accidentally? "Well, for one thing a best mate is usually going to stick around for as long as possible. For the rest of your life, even. They are genuinely interested in your success as a person, they support you in the decisions you make and they go out of their way to help you when you have a problem. Best mates will get up at 3 in the morning to comfort you after a breakup, and they won't care that you waste their time sobbing into their shoulder about things you can't change." She didn't mean to draw parallels between her and Ron, or at least how they used to be. They'd been getting distant since she'd started spending her evenings with Harry. Well, it was a suitable definition.

She continued on, "A girlfriend is more like a mate that you can kiss. You can do other things, too, if you've been together long enough and she's okay with it." Ginny's face was burning. This wasn't as awkward as she thought it would be, but it was _so_ embarrassing... "Basically, a girlfriend is a very good mate that might be considering you for a spouse."

"What other things?" Harry interjected, honestly curious.

"Erm... what?" Ginny didn't know quite what he was talking about, but was already dreading his explanation.

"You said that a girlfriend is like a mate that you can kiss and do other things with. What other things can you do with a girlfriend?" He had lost some of his signature monotone, something that Ginny had been working very hard on achieving. If only he weren't using his newfound linguistic skills to ask such horribly blunt questions. It was so much easier not to be affected by the questions Harry asked when he sounded completely detached from the situation. Now that he sounded a bit more like everyone else, she was starting to treat his questions as if they came from anyone else. Not good.

"Well, Harry, there are quite a lot of things so I'll just touch on a few." After taking a few moments to collect her thoughts, and recover from yet another unintentional double entendre, she explained, "Let's use the baseball metaphor. You've heard of baseball, right?"

Harry nodded in affirmation.

Ginny continued, "Right. We'll go with bases. First base is just kissing. If you've been together for a while, you might get to second base with your girlfriend. Everyone has a different opinion of what the bases are and when you should reach them, but every relationship is different. Second base is more physical, with some touching being allowed but no clothes taken off."

The Boy who Lived nodded, taking in every word with the same attentive seriousness he usually showed in a mission briefing. Ginny used to find it unnerving, but now she simply felt self-conscious. She wasn't really that great of a teacher, he shouldn't take her too seriously. What did she know, after all?

Pushing her doubts aside, she kept talking. She was becoming painfully aware of the fact that not only had they kissed, but she was talking to him at this very moment with her clothes off, and he had been touching her for the past half hour. But that didn't mean... no, of course not. "Third base involves the removal of clothes, but no ... penetration. And fourth base is ..." She mumbled the last bit incoherently, hoping he'd let her get away with it.

"Ginny, I could not understand the last words you said, defining fourth base. Please repeat yourself." Psh. Of course he wouldn't. How perfectly irritating, that he would hang on her every word.

"Shagging, okay?! Shagging!" She didn't mean to shout, of course, but it was so ... damn irritating! I mean, couldn't he tell how incredibly awkward it was to talk about this sort of thing while he was massaging her naked back?

No, of course he couldn't. He was, after all, irredeemably dense. What were we talking about, again?

Harry interrupted her thoughts, "By your definition, then, are we are at third base?"

If there were a good, thick wall nearby, Ginny would have been banging her head up against it just now. She would've settled for anything harder than what she was burying her face in yet again. He was so damn abrupt! Where was his subtlety? Where?!

"Also, on the scale of intimacy, where do we fit?" He added, as if it were really necessary.

Her blood pressure spiked. Rage. Apoplectic, fatalistic _rage_. It had to happen, she knew it would happen. She just _knew_.

Damn him. Damn him and his abrupt questions, and his amazing back massages and his ridiculously comfortable pillows. She was trapped. Letting out a defeated sigh, she tried to keep the hate out of her voice as she responded. It wasn't like he did it on purpose... right?

"Well, Harry, it's hard to say. I mean, we're definitely mates. Maybe even best mates, maybe we're something else. It's up to you, really..." a_nd if you value your life, you'll think hard before you open that mouth of yours and say something stupid!_ Ginny knew she shouldn't get her hopes up and expect him to make her his proper girlfriend, the man was just learning, after all. But it was so hard not to be hopeful.

"Can we..." Harry said, much too quickly for her liking, "can we be best mates?" His voice was tentative, hesitant.

With a muted sigh, she let her hopes crash. Of course he wouldn't say anything romantic. He had the potential, his flowers told her that much, but trying to guess when that romantic side would appear again was like trying to guess the exact date of the apocalypse. It would be on about the same epic scale, too.

"I don't think I've ever had a best mate." Harry said quietly.

Her heart broke for him yet again. It was too easy for her to forget just how tragic his childhood had been, since he never complained about anything. He'd been denied so much over his short life... She was suddenly filled with the urgent desire to hug him, and never let him go. In some ways, he was still so small and vulnerable...

He continued, "From what I understand, most girlfriends will leave you. Best mates can last a lifetime, and I would like you to have a permanent place in my life. I ... don't want you to leave." If she didn't know any better, she'd have said he sounded scared. Contorting her neck to look back at him, she saw that he had tears forming in his eyes.

Harry Potter was no stranger to pain. Ginny had seen examples on a near-weekly basis. She'd seen the intricate network of scars etched into his intensely masculine body that no healer could fully remove. She knew his tolerance firsthand, having watched him get shot at point-blank range with an assault rifle whilst rescuing her. He'd regrown the bones in his shoulder that night without so much as a grunt.

But in all the time she'd known him, she realized suddenly that she'd never once seen his tears.

Without preamble or warning, she twisted under him and launched herself at the Boy who Lived, wrapping him tightly in her arms. He needed a hug, consequences be damned! She didn't care how embarrassing it might have been in any other circumstance, hugging a bloke whilst topless, it was something she couldn't wait another moment to do. He was so ... _Harry_. How could she have resisted?

His arms came up and enveloped her securely, filling her with a type of warmth that couldn't possibly be achieved with a fireplace. She felt tears stinging her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and hugged him all the more tightly for it. Her arms were trembling from the effort of clutching at him. She wanted nothing more at this moment than to take away every last ounce of his pain, to heal the emotional void he had suffered with his entire life without a single objection. "Shh... It's okay, Harry, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. I won't. I'll never. Shh..."

Huge sobs rocked his frame, spasms that shook Ginny to her core. For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Harry Potter was crying. She didn't let him go, not for the better part of an hour while he poured out the pain he had locked inside himself for so many years. She whispered soft words of comfort all the while, stroking his back soothingly as he held her ever tighter.

When his embrace finally relaxed, he whispered in a voice hoarse from exertion, "I'm sorry, Ginny. I just-"

She cut him off immediately, "Don't _ever _be sorry for relying on me, Harry, and don't ever be sorry for crying. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I want to be here for you; I want to help you in any way I can. Just ... let me help."

The Boy who Lived nodded against her cheek, squeezing her tightly once again. "Thank you for being here for me." After another long while he moved to let her go, but she held him tightly in place. With a small measure of concern, he skimmed her surface thoughts.

Ginny was quite satisfied with their progress today and intensely pleased that she could be there to hold him when he needed her. She cherished the fact that he cried for her. Now she was wondering if being best mates meant that they couldn't kiss anymore. She was also looking forward to a great night's sleep, but there was the small matter of how to get her clothes back on without exposing herself to her new best mate. Yes, she was losing her modesty, but she wasn't exactly an exhibitionist like Harry was!

With a smile, Harry closed his eyes and turned around. He would have to ask Hermione what an exhibitionist was. "By the way, Ginny, is there a type of best mate that you can kiss? Because I very much enjoy that aspect of our relationship..."

He could practically hear her grin behind her as she buttoned up her blouse. "Why yes, Mr. Potter, now that you mention it, there is." She paused for a few moments, and then said in her best impersonation of his monotone, "That would be... a mutually beneficial arrangement."

She really didn't know what to call their relationship now, but it didn't matter. For now, it was enough.

* * *

Sirius Black had many moods, and all were clearly recognizable. One could tell with relative ease whether or not it was safe to approach him based on his face and his voice. If he bit off his words or frowned, he was angry. If he smiled and waved you over, he was happy. But if he was withdrawn and silent, people simply knew not to disturb him. It meant he was hiding a rage deep enough to drown in. It was how he got his best work done, and nobody dared to disturb him in such a state. Tightly controlled rage, focused determination... that was his element. And at this very moment, he was in his element.

Azkaban had been utterly destroyed. Reduced to a pile of rubble. The immensely powerful wards shattered beyond repair. Everyone was horribly mutilated, dead and accounted for, except one: Draco Malfoy. The youngest, and almost certainly the weakest inmate. Every guard, every other inmate, even the boat driver was dead, but Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be found. That alone was cause for concern, but it got worse.

When Sirius heard the news, he had used his portkey and gone there immediately. Waiting for him was a vast plain of broken bodies and shattered stone, and a single crystal laying patiently at his feet. Nobody was supposed to know that this part of the island was a designated portkey area.

He knew better than to touch the clear ball, even though it had no magical signature to speak of. But peering closely at it, he saw a symbol etched into the crystal: a single snowflake. It was the sigil of Dr. Matthias Winters, a first-rate wizard, narcissist and sociopath. He could have easily been the new face of terror in the Wizarding World, if he'd had aspirations towards anything but his research. His patients had a penchant for being completely unaware of their candidacy in his programs, and for turning up dead within the week. If Dr. Winters were responsible for this, it would have meant a powerful enemy was making his first moves towards becoming the next dark lord.

He gritted his teeth, biting back the growl that threatened to escape his throat. That was impossible. Dr. Winters had been killed over 2 years ago. He should know. After all, it was he who had received the mission from his superiors, and he who had passed it on to his godson, Harry Potter.

He had to get back to his office. Something was happening. Something bigger than anything he was prepared to handle at the moment. He twisted his portkey again and disappeared into the ether. There was much work to be done, and every minute until the next attack was merely borrowed time.


	17. Borrowed Time

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XVII: Borrowed Time

"I assume, Mr. Cameron that your presence here means you are fully aware of the situation that has been developing in the last two weeks." Sirius was understandably cautious with his words, as the Winters case was still being kept under wraps, even to David Cameron.

"Of course I'm aware. I wouldn't have come to you if it weren't the last option on the table." David couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice. He had left this office in a blind rage over two years ago, vowing never to return no matter what the cost. Well, he had finally found a cost he was not willing to pay. "Every single family involved with the old Matthias Winters case has been targeted and killed, except for mine. If it were just my life in danger, I'd go into hiding. But my daughter..." His eyes were desperate and fierce. "I know we didn't part on the best of terms, but I'm begging you. Don't let him take my daughter. I can't lose her, too..."

Sirius regarded the man quietly for a moment, and then said, "You know I never blamed you for leaving the team, David. You had just lost your wife to that madman. You were the only one who really understood who we were up against, though, and as much as I hate to ask this..." he trailed off, gauging his reaction to the unspoken question.

With an imperceptible smile, Mr. Cameron nodded. "I knew you would. My daughter is the only thing I have left in the world. If you can promise to keep her safe, I'll do everything in my power to find Dr. Winters' son."

The Auror smirked. How like David Cameron to know who they were up against even though no publicity had been given to the string of murders that had been occurring almost daily for the past two weeks. Sirius had only just briefed Harry on their new threat, and the man that was responsible for kidnapping the Boy who Lived right under their noses: Dr. Lucas Winters. David always had a knack for getting into people's heads. It's why Sirius had picked him to head up the team in charge of locating Dr. Matthias Winters for Harry. Now he was volunteering yet again to immerse himself in the madness of the Winters family. It was a sacrifice that could not be taken lightly.

Mr. Cameron turned and opened the door, admitting a very pretty young woman with long, wavy brown hair and her father's strikingly blue eyes. "This is my daughter, Samantha. Samantha, this is Sirius Black. He worked with me a few years ago on the Winters case, remember? He's going to make sure you stay safe while we find Dr. Winters' son."

Samantha's eyes landed on the Auror and lit up excitedly. "You're Harry Potter's godfather, aren't you? Do you think I could meet him? Is he here?" She looked around his office, her smile growing wider as she noticed all of Harry's commendations.

With a wolfish grin, Sirius said, "Oh, I have the perfect bodyguard for her... Just let me sign her school transfer papers. She'll start next week."

* * *

As Harry finished yet another morning entry in his new self-reflection journal, he found himself wondering not for the first time what its purpose was. Ginny had urged him to start writing down his thoughts and feelings; she said it would be an emotional outlet to keep him from breaking down at a bad time, like in a combat situation. He had always been taught to ignore his emotions. They clouded his judgment, wasted his mental sharpness. His training had served him well up to this point, but her reasoning was sound: if he had any chance of properly integrating with society then he would need to become more aware of his own emotional state.

So he carried around a leather-bound field notebook and wrote in it whenever he had a particularly strong thought or feeling. It was an interesting psychological exercise, and Ginny thought he should do it. That was enough for him.

He had nearly finished proofreading his previous day's entries when the youngest Weasley barreled into him, wrapping him in a tight hug. "Good morning!" she whispered cheerfully, keeping her voice down for the sake of all the sleepy children at the tables. Her eyes caught his field notebook as he shut it hastily. "What are you writing, Harry?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

Harry tucked the notebook away as he answered, "This notebook contains my self-reflections for the past two weeks, I have been recording every strong thought and emotion as it occurs, along with minor background details that may assist me in synthesizing all pertinent information, as instructed."

Ginny blinked in awe. It never failed to amaze and humble her when she thought of how serious he was, how much weight her suggestions carried with him. She had mentioned in passing that keeping a journal could help keep him from experiencing any more breakdowns like the one in the Room of Requirement. It just wasn't healthy to bottle up all his emotions like that! And of course, he did exactly that. She hugged him again on impulse, then picked up her fork and prepared to dig into her breakfast. "Thank you, Harry."

He shook his head but otherwise remained silent, and the two of them ate peacefully for several long minutes. Ginny really wanted to read what he wrote, partially as payback for him reading her diary (which she was quite comfortable with, absurdly enough. She just wished he would've asked first! So what if they weren't on exactly on speaking terms at the time?), but mostly just because she was insanely curious what he had written. Was it about her? Merlin knew that she wrote enough about him, would his journal read the same way? That settled it; she was going to get that journal. Time to give the boy wonder a taste of his own medicine!

Harry watched with interest as the gears turned in Ginny's head. She wanted to read his journal? That seemed logical, since he was writing the journal by her request. With her far greater experience in this area she was bound to have helpful suggestions and areas for improvement, to say nothing of her abilities to synthesize emotions he was only now learning to deal with. He'd gladly have given it to her if she asked. Why was she treating such a basic request so secretively and getting so excited about it? She was treating it almost like a mission, in fact.

His godfather used to play games with him, games with no set structure or time limits, where he'd have to learn and adapt to receive his reward. Sometimes he would steal Harry's breakfast first thing in the morning and make him steal it back or suffer with no food, sometimes he wouldn't be allowed to return to his room after a long, hard day of training until he'd beaten him in a duel. To him, it represented a great courtesy. It represented the fact that his Godfather respected him enough to teach him a very important lesson: whatever you want in life, you'll have to pave your own way to it. You didn't simply receive money, shelter and food for nothing. You had to earn your place in this world, and you had to fight to keep that place.

Since she wanted to play, he'd be happy to extend her the same courtesy. It was the least he could do to repay her.

* * *

Ginny's first attempt to steal Harry's journal occurred during lunch that day, far too soon to have an effective plan. He wanted to make it slightly difficult for her, but not impossibly hard. She was not properly trained in subterfuge and espionage, so he would use no spells beyond NEWT-level. After all, his godfather never made it impossible for him, just a bit more difficult than the last time. He would record her attempts along with helpful hints for success.

She sat down next to him quickly and was far too eager to adjust her shoelaces. Harry simply slid his bag to the other side of his feet so she couldn't reach around him. She didn't look deterred in the slightest, which quite impressed Harry. He tallied a win for himself and fought back a smile. This was more fun than he had anticipated. He could see why his godfather always grinned during this game. Harry: 1, Ginny: 0.

Her second attempt was later that night in the Gryffindor Common Room, when she asked him to read over her essay for Potions. It was eight inches on the properties of the three most common truth potions, their benefits and drawbacks. While he had never done this assignment and never taken 5th year Potions, he had personally brewed and used each of the truth potions listed. As he was poring over her tidy scrawl, she surreptitiously hooked her foot around the strap of his bag and slowly slid it towards her. Unfortunately for her, he was currently sitting on his notebook. He couldn't fight back the smile this time as she quietly searched his pack for an object that wasn't there. Harry: 2, Ginny: 0.

Showing a rare tenacity, she crept into his dormitory after he went to bed, setting off the weak proximity alarm on the door. The spell was fair, as she had used the same one in a futile attempt to keep him away from her room when they had their first fight. He feigned sleep while she rummaged through his pack, and was startlingly quiet about it. Impressive. Time to see how she improvised.

He moaned softly and rolled over, causing her to back up quickly. She wasn't as aware of her surroundings as she should have been, and tripped over a pile of Ron's dirty clothes with a startled yelp. Harry sat up at the noise. "Ginny? What are you doing here so late?" he asked, knowing full well what she was up to but not wanting to give away the game just yet. She fumbled through a weak excuse about thinking that he still had her Potions essay, and he pretended to buy it. He kissed her quickly and led her out of the dormitory. Harry: 3, Ginny: 0.

The youngest Weasley entered the Boy's dormitory again in the morning, while Harry was doing his usual run around the grounds. She set off his proximity alarm again, he was going to have to let her know somehow that she needed to be more cautious and check for traps. He hopped on his broom and flew up to the Common Room with all possible expediency. He took off his shirt with a wry smile as he climbed the steps to the Boy's dormitory, saying hello to a rather startled-looking boy from the next room over. Harry gave her a few moments to hide before turning the knob. He would have set his own proximity alarms on all exits, just in case, but she couldn't be expected to know that sort of thing with no instruction.

After her muted cursing and thumping around had ceased, he swung open the door and took in the sight before him; his sheets were rumpled, his nightstand was completely rearranged. It was obvious that it had been searched, and hastily. It was also obvious that Ginny was hiding under his bed. Of all the places to seek cover... He shook his head softly. They would have to debrief when this game ended. She had gone into this situation without giving her exit strategy a spare thought. That showed a lack of discipline and forethought. Did she treat other situations similarly, saying something or doing something without considering the consequences?

Well, he couldn't just let her get away with raiding his room so recklessly...

Ginny nearly gasped out loud as Harry's trousers hit the floor right in front of her hiding spot. Oh, this was quickly going from bad to worse. He wouldn't... and he did. The soft thump of his shirt, socks and underwear hitting the floor wouldn't have muted her scream of frustration, so she bit her lip hard. _Bloody hell_, she thought to herself as she buried her head in her hands, trying to resist the temptation to beat her head thoroughly against the unyielding granite below her. _I really am rubbish at sneaking around, aren't I? Merlin's soggy undershirt, but the man is handsome. All I can see are his ankles, but even they just ooze attractiveness. Is that wrong to think? Wait, why am I still staring at his naked ankles? What if he walks further away?! I shouldn't be looking at this. I really, really, definitely shouldn't be looking at this..._

"Hmm? Someone set off my proximity alarm... must've been Ron." Harry mused aloud, hoping she would get the hint and just disable them next time. She had gone impressively silent; he couldn't even hear her breathing from a few feet away. He didn't know if he was classifiable as sadistic, but he certainly enjoyed the thought of her being so uncomfortable around him while he was undressed. He'd never had any level of discomfort with his naked body; it was still a novelty to find someone who had such a reaction to it. Content with the knowledge that she had to be positively squirming under his bed, he loped off to take a quick shower. He didn't even bother to close the door as the water started running. Hopefully, she'd blush clear up to her hairline and leave quietly while he was washing off the sweat from his workout.

Which, of course, she did. Sweet, sweet victory. 4 to nil.

* * *

Ginny wouldn't meet his face at breakfast later that morning; she just looked down at her plate and blushed furiously. He rather enjoyed seeing her embarrassed. It was highly endearing. She was so embarrassed, in fact, that she didn't try again until after Quidditch practice that night. She didn't show up for their customary after-practice snack, so he waited a minute and then summoned his bag from his room. He laughed out loud when he saw that it was already open and half empty. How perfectly damning... He'd already thought up a viable excuse that would keep her from getting too suspicious of his actions. The journal was still in there, thanks to his sticking charm, but she'd gotten past the door alarm and the bag alarm this time. That was quite an improvement! It didn't earn her any points, though. 5 to 0. Merlin, but he loved winning. He _loved_ winning.

They met in the Room of Requirement after dinner for their scheduled lesson, and he brought her something from the kitchens since she wasn't at the after-practice snack session. She said thank you, but was obviously expecting an interrogation or at least a question about his bag. He wouldn't tip her off quite yet... he was having a lot of fun with this.

She kept eyeing his bag distractedly during their question and answer session. So obvious... "Ginny? Are you all right? You seem distracted tonight." She blushed harder and shook her head. "Just tired, is all..." Well, he had a cure for that. He quietly put her to sleep with a minor compulsion charm a few minutes later and finished up with his massage. The game was all well and good, but she needed her rest or she got... testy. He dressed her, carried her up to her room and tucked her in.

He couldn't keep the smile off of his face, though. This was just too much fun.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was a man who was intimately familiar with sleep deprivation, and the oddly philosophical musings that went hand in hand with it. It was expected, in a way, considering that most students didn't believe he slept at all. Did their young minds even consider the possibility that he had a bedroom inside the school, and used it occasionally? Did they just assume that if he wasn't eating then he was certainly to be found much as he was now, sitting behind his desk with his fingers steepled in front of his face, simply waiting for someone to call on him? During his last foray into Hogsmeade, he passed by a shop that sold the most wonderfully colorful socks... he even saw a pair that massaged the user's feet. He dearly wanted a pair of those... He could easily imagine sitting through another dreadfully dull meeting of the Board of Governors, pretending to be interested in the proceedings but really thinking how perfectly marvelous his feet felt as the knit wool rubbed circles on his battered arches...

Such were the late-night, sleep-deprived philosophical musings of Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore.

The fireplace flared to life, interrupting his rather pleasant train of thought, and Sirius Black poked his head out of the flames. "Good evening, Albus! I've got great news! I hope I'm interrupting something..." The Auror in Charge of Executive Protection turned his head every which way in dramatic fashion, searching the room for someone to talk over.

With a small smile at the man's antics, the Headmaster replied, "Sadly, no. Perhaps you'd like to try again in the morning? I'm expecting a visit from the Minister of Magic himself. He is quite interruptible, if you are inclined to such proclivities."

Sirius' smile widened, creases forming at the corners of his mouth. "No, thank you, I interrupt Arthur quite enough already. I'm here on official business, actually. I've got the paperwork here for a new student, temporary transfer I assure you, and I need to have the processing expedited. She needs to start on Monday."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes twinkled. "Mr. Black, I'm more than happy to help the Ministry in any way I can and I'm always happy to take on new students, but you'll have to be a bit more forthcoming with the details."

With a nod, Sirius said in a low voice, "Her name is Samantha Cameron, daughter of David Cameron. Truthfully, I need a place to hide her, to keep her safe while we work on the Winters case. David's the best there is at this sort of work, but he can't focus when he's constantly worrying about his daughter's safety. I know there's no safer place than Hogwarts, and it's a new assignment for my godson, as well. He'll be in charge of close protection for the duration of her stay."

Albus' eyes twinkled more brightly. "Oho! I'm touched that you consider my school to be so secure. It is high praise, coming from a man in your position. Harry will be delighted, I'm sure, to be in the constant company of another woman."

"I thought the same thing! She arrives first thing Monday morning, Harry will be briefed immediately prior to her arrival, please have him report to your office at 0530. Oh, and get some sleep, Albus, you look like you haven't seen your bed in a week." Sirius waved as his head vanished from the flames.

"... Indeed." Albus said to no one in particular, steepling his fingers together thoughtfully.

* * *

Harry awoke the next morning before dawn to the sound of his nightstand drawer being closed. It took a considerable amount of discipline to keep still, when his first instinct was to lash out immediately and terminate the threat that had gotten so close to his sleeping form. Uncomfortably close, in fact. It had to be Ginny, but he didn't hear her come in and didn't wake when she approached. That was unsettling, as he always woke up when people came within a certain distance of him. It was the reason his Godfather could never catch him off guard, but somehow the youngest Weasley had succeeded where others had failed. He sensed her the moment he woke, so why did he fail to wake sooner?

Ginny must have seen him twitch, for she reached over and shook him until he rolled over to face her. Once she saw that his eyes had opened, she brightly exclaimed, "Good morning, Harry! Don't get up quite yet, I've got a surprise for you. I know I've been a bit distracted lately, but that's no excuse to ignore my new best mate! So I brought you something... it's a bit of an 'I'm sorry' and a bit of a 'thank you', but mostly a 'just because'." With a flourish, she set down a wide tray laden with his favorite breakfast items. Eggs, diced potatoes and peppers, sausage, bacon, milk, orange juice, toast... even a small bar of dark chocolate for dessert! Brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face, she sat back with a small, satisfied smile.

As he stared down at the loaded tray, Harry found himself thinking (and not for the first time) of how much his life had changed in the few short months he'd been assigned to Hogwarts. He felt like a completely different person at times... as if his old life was a million miles away.

Back then, breakfast was served in the mess hall, he ate as quickly as manners would allow and then returned to his room. He heard the hushed whispers around him, but no one would open a line of communication. He took no steps to establish personal rapport with any of his fellow soldiers, and he had no idea how to initiate such actions. He didn't care to endear himself to them, since he was almost certainly going to die before age 18. And now, he was being served breakfast in bed by his best mate for nothing more than being himself. The fact that he even had a best mate warmed him against the crisp morning air.

He felt a euphoric near-weightlessness as he dug in. A best mate was a very nice thing to have, he decided. For several short minutes, there was nothing but the sound of utensils scraping. When he had eaten his fill, he leaned back against the headboard and smiled at Ginny. "Thank you. It was very thoughtful, and the food was delicious."

"You're quite welcome, Harry. Instead of the food, you should really be thanking me for waking up this early to give it to you. Why on earth would a rational human being have their eyes open at this hour? Anyway, how's your reflection journal coming? Have any epiphanies lately?" Ginny tried to look nonchalant, but there was a bright eagerness in her voice that she couldn't quite conceal.

Harry felt that she had worked awfully hard this time, so he'd take the bait. It didn't dim his enjoyment of the meal at all, though. He knew that regardless of the fact that they were playing a basic game of espionage, she wouldn't fake her emotions for it. She was truly grateful for his friendship, and happy for an excuse to thank him for it. "Well, I wouldn't say I've had an epiphany yet, but I'm still writing down everything. The journal is filling up more quickly than I anticipated."

With a mechanical and deliberate motion he pulled the journal from beneath his mattress and canceled the minor notice-me-not charm he'd placed on it. He made a show out of placing the pad of his thumb on the top right corner of the journal to unlock it and opened it to the current page. "It's already two-thirds full. It is far more enjoyable than I would have expected, so this is not a problem. When it is full, I will reflect on my notes until a noticeable pattern of cause and effect emerges. I honestly don't know what the results will be; I've never run this type of experiment before... It is quite exciting."

They made small talk for a while longer, then Ginny kissed him on the nose and left to let him get ready for his morning. He couldn't miss the look of triumph on her face as she left. She would try again while he was on his morning run, without a doubt. She would have a bit of trouble with his locking charm, since it only opened with the thumbprint of the one who locked it. He didn't think it was higher than NEWT-level, but he also didn't expect her to be able to defeat it with no preparation. It was a common-use locking charm in the Wizarding World, or at least the parts that he'd been exposed to.

Sure enough, when she came down for breakfast it was with a look of thinly veiled disappointment. 6 to 0! She sat down and prodded her eggs, lost in thought. Suddenly, her eyes locked onto Hermione, who was sitting on her right. Harry could practically hear the click of the light switch turning on.

He didn't know if his bushy-haired friend would play along with their game, so he decided to intervene. "Hermione, do you have a moment after breakfast? I'd like a second opinion on my charms essay, I'm not sure my conclusion is within the assignment's parameters." As soon as she made eye contact with him, he spoke to her mind over the top of his own voice. _Ginny is going to ask you about locking spells soon. Please tell me that you can't help me, then tell her about 'digitus clostrum' when she asks._ It was a common tactic in covert meetings, to carry on one conversation verbally and a completely different conversation mentally, and it was nearly impossible to catch on to, provided the conversationalists were well-trained.

Hermione, to her credit, didn't give away the slightest hint that she had just been the victim of two conversations at once. She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then replied apologetically, "Sorry, Harry, but I promised I'd help Ron finish his." _I'm quite sure I don't want to know. You owe me one, Harry!_

That was very surprising, though he didn't show it. He had only instructed Hermione on the basics of surface legilimency a week ago, to give them a more private alternative to tossing crumpled pieces of parchment back and forth, and she had already learned to use the spell wandlessly to deliver verbal messages, whilst talking no less. She had a truly ravenous intellect, and soaked up everything he taught her with an eagerness that would have had his previous instructors doing backflips out of joy.

Harry nodded, "Understood. I'm sure Professor Flitwick will not grade me too harshly, I believe I was thorough and detailed, if slightly misdirected." _Of course! Your advancements in surface legilimency are very impressive. _With that, he grabbed his backpack and stood. "I will see you at lunch, Ginny. Thank you again for breakfast." No sooner did he turn his back to walk away then his red-headed best mate rounded on Hermione and started whispering.

* * *

That night at dinner, Ginny was grinning predatorily. She nearly missed the glass when she went to refill his orange juice, which Harry just chalked up to pre-game jitters. Her mind would be racing right now, running over the general plan and every possible contingency. It was only natural that she would feel nervous the first few times. What would she try, to locate and separate him from his journal? How would she defeat his lock? When would her attack commence? His stomach churned with anticipation.

Actually... that didn't feel like anticipation churning in his stomach. An angry gurgle resonated through him as he ran a self-diagnostic spell. No known magical afflictions, but he couldn't ignore how he felt. His insides felt like they were being rubbed with sandpaper. It was intensely uncomfortable. He'd had to push through worse, to be sure, but he only had to tough it out in the field. "Excuse me; I've got to go see Madam Pomfrey."

The grin slid off of Ginny's face instantly, replaced by one of concern. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"I'm not sure, but I feel unwell." said the Boy who Lived as he grabbed his bag and stood up unsteadily.

"What? Want some company?" Ginny asked, looking alarmed.

Harry just shook his head, and then walked off at as fast a pace as he could manage without running. The youngest Weasley stared after him, her brow knit with a strange emotion.

* * *

It wasn't until later that night that Ginny found herself entering the Hospital wing, a poorly-transfigured flower in one hand and a glossy, handmade get-well card in the other. "Harry?" she called out tentatively, looking around for any sign of the green-eyed Gryffindor.

"I'm over here." he called from behind a linen screen in the far corner. He pulled the curtain back and smiled at her as she approached. "Madam Pomfrey checked me out, but couldn't find any trace of a poison or illness... my only symptom is a drastic increase in the frequency of my bowel movements."

Ginny wrinkled her nose at that. "And did I really need to know that? Still, that's a load off of my mind. You seem like the type of bloke that's made a few enemies, you know, and I don't want you dying on me just yet..." she forced a chuckle, but Harry could tell it was strained.

"Anyway, here. I made these for you." She thrust her items out for him to take. He smiled as he put the flower on the table and read her card. His smile turned into a full-blown laugh as he scanned it over. It was obviously meant to be lighthearted, as it contained a neatly penned poem with numerous near-platitudes about his physical features, and how she would miss them if he died. "Biceps as large as beefsteak tomatoes? Are my eyes really as green as a fresh-pickled toad? I think I'd mourn _having_ toad-green eyes, rather than mourn _losing _them..."

With a huff of amused irritation, she snatched the card out of his hands. "Well if you don't like it, then I'll take it back! I worked hard on this, dammit!" She couldn't suppress a smile, which illuminated her face prettily in the waning sunlight. She seemed deeply relieved, perhaps because he was still feeling well enough to laugh. Narrowing her eyes, she gently pushed him towards the hospital bed. He sat obediently. "Anyway, you lie back down and take it easy tonight. Forget about our lesson, and forget about your homework for a night." As she spoke, she pulled out her wand and tapped his backpack. It slowly disappeared from sight. That was a very good disillusionment charm, which was significant, as he didn't even know that she knew that particular spell. "Just rest for a while, I'll come back in a bit to keep you company. All right?"

The Boy who Lived nodded, "Yes, thank you, Ginny. I appreciate your concern. That was an impressive disillusionment charm."

Ginny beamed and winked at him, her eyes triumphant. "Thanks, Harry. I've been practicing." She waved, turned and disappeared through the doorway.

Harry blinked, processing her words. Why would she be practicing the disillusionment spell? They were on the 7th year charms curriculum... back up. His eyes widened in surprise as he mentally replayed the events of her visit. He reached down, feeling for his invisible bag, and canceled the disillusionment charm. Rummaging through it quickly, he found his journal conspicuously absent. _No way_...

_She did something to me to make me go to the hospital wing, and wrote me a gag card knowing she'd take it back. It was glossy; it had my fingerprints all over it! She disillusioned my entire bag so I wouldn't see her snatch the journal from it!_

The more he thought about it, the more impressed he was. She had efficiently neutralized his mobility, which was his most effective defense, capitalized on the resulting weakness and used a surprisingly advanced spell to conceal her attack. She had pounced when the moment was right. "Well played..." he said to the empty Hospital Wing.

His stomach gurgled loudly once more, and he laughed all the way to the toilet.

* * *

During breakfast the next morning, Ginny confessed that she used a powerful muggle laxative to get him to the hospital wing, which would explain why both Madam Pomfrey's and his own diagnostic spells failed to pick up the cause of that intensely uncomfortable experience. She also confessed her disappointment that he picked up on her scheme so quickly. Seconds after she'd had the idea, really. She found out about it once she'd read his journal and found all the helpful side notes about her attempts, and what she could improve upon.

She would have been irritated if it had even the slightest undertone of condescension, but she knew him too well for that. The bloke didn't have the first clue about how to be condescending, nor would he understand the reasoning behind such an attitude. In fact, he would probably never understand unless someone wrote a field manual about it. The cover would probably read, "Effective Diplomatic Countermeasures against Perceived Situational Superiority: the Fine Art of Condescension" or some rubbish like that. The thought brought a smile to her face. He had certainly improved her vocabulary.

She found a lot of entries about her, deeply personal information that she didn't expect him to willingly share with her. She was touched by the level of trust he showed in her, the effort he put into properly defining his emotions regarding her and the time they spent together. It seemed a bit odd, though, because he was very vague when speaking of certain other things. He often used phrases like 'the second mission with my neighbor' or 'the person with the crooked teeth' when speaking of people and places. It was compounded by the fact that even though he wrote down very specific feelings relating to the events, he never said anything about what caused those emotions. She pointed it out to him. "You really should be more specific when you're talking about other events and people; I can't tell what you're talking about or what it's supposed to mean. You have all these entries and I have no clue what caused you to feel that way."

Harry's smile faltered, but he explained patiently, "I have no secrets from you, Ginny, but some secrets are not mine to give. What I know could be very dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands, intel can mean the difference between life and death in the field. I must not disseminate classified information."

The silence that followed this assertion was sobering. She sometimes forgot that even though he was her schoolmate, even though he was her best mate, he was still a soldier. He was still a highly skilled member of a profession that dealt with life and death. "Thank you for sharing your journal with me, Harry. I really appreciate that you trust me to keep your secrets."

He smiled brilliantly at her. "You're quite welcome, Ginny. I'm glad you're here to keep them."

* * *

After another exhilarating Saturday flying session, Ginny and Harry were recovering on the grassy bank bordering the pitch. Well, Ginny was recovering. Harry was... _Harry_. Sitting there patiently, giving her that knowing look as her damp hair dried in the sun. She'd sweated quite enough to require a shower, and he'd barely perspired. That new broom of his was ... intense. Just like Harry, there was no better word to describe them. Simply holding onto it was a challenge, as it responded to the slightest impulse and had no dampening whatsoever. Every second on it was hard and sharp and blindingly fast. All the same, she loved it. It was just like Harry in so many ways, how could she resist?

Sensing her mood (which he was getting incredibly good at), the Boy who Lived propped himself up on his elbow, leaned over and kissed her forehead with a smile. She frowned as he pulled away, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him right back. He caught himself before he crushed his best mate, his hands landing on either side of her. She tugged his head down to her and kissed him forcefully, smiling against his mouth as he let out a chuckle.

"You know," he said, "one of these days I might not catch myself when you do that. I might not look it, but I'm quite heavy. I'd hate to explain to the Minister of Magic that I crushed his daughter in a tragic snogging accident." As if to prove his point, he lowered himself onto her gently and pressed light kisses on her neck, nonchalantly working his way down to her shoulder and then back up to her ear.

Ginny found his weight to be quite pleasant against her, and his scent blended in with the freshly-cut grass under them to create an intoxicating aroma. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head as he captured her earlobe with his warm mouth and gently bit it. Merlin help him, but he was amazing at that... She could feel her toes curling inside her trainers as his teeth tugged her earlobe playfully. His breath was hot on her, intense. "Well..." she whispered, more than a little breathless as she tried to take in a full measure of fresh air, "ah... that would be the slightest bit embarrassing for me, too, you know. I mean... I haven't even told my father that we _are_ on snogging terms, I'd hate for him to find out while reading my autopsy report..."

"Are you supposed to tell him that sort of thing?" Harry inquired as the slightest hint of confusion showed on his face.

Ginny smiled contentedly, answering him with practiced patience as she wrapped her slender arms around his waist and pulled him closer. "Why yes, I probably am supposed to tell him when I'm snogging a bloke on a regular basis. It is a fair bit friendlier then a handshake, after all."

Nodding his affirmation, he whispered, "Yes, I suppose it is..."

"I mean... what do you feel when I kiss you?" Ginny asked, honestly curious. One could never take something for granted when dealing with Harry Potter, after all.

Harry regarded her for a long moment, quietly replying, "Something far removed from shaking your hand, to be sure. The best way to describe it is probably... that I enjoy the sensation of you enjoying yourself. I focus on that because it helps me maintain my concentration: it keeps me from getting swept up in the emotions of it."

"That sounds so clinical..." Ginny whispered, her face betraying the pain that statement caused her. "You make it seem like getting swept up in emotions is a bad thing; like you need to constantly be concentrating. Don't you ever let go?"

The Boy who Lived shook his head firmly, suddenly serious as he stared down at her. "I can't let go of my concentration, even for a moment. It's not like I don't want to, but I can't afford to lose control."

The youngest Weasley wanted to lash out at him for sounding so insensitive, but she had realized months ago that it was quite impossible to get a rise out of Harry Potter. She put it as gently as she could, "That hurts, Harry. I'm glad that you care so much about my enjoyment, but I want you to enjoy yourself, too! When you're kissing me, it's like the rest of the world blurs and fades away..."

She looked away, finding these words necessary but very difficult to say when he was staring at her like that. He always stared at her like a drowning man at a lifeline. Like the next five seconds were all he had left before he'd disappear into the depths. The intensity of it still made her self-conscious. "I lose myself in your kisses, and it hurts to think that you're so detached about it! I mean, I really want you to enjoy yourself as much as I do. It's okay to relax and let go every once in a while, to lose control. I think I'd like it..." she trailed off, blushing. Try as she might, being that open never got easier. She'd been making a concerted effort to be as honest as possible with the green-eyed Gryffindor, leading by example. He'd opened up a lot in the past few weeks, especially since he started keeping a self-reflection journal.

"No, Ginny. You don't understand. I cannot be permitted to lose control. Terrible things happen when I slip up." He could tell that she wasn't convinced, so he stood up and offered her his hand. He'd make her understand. "Come with me." She quirked an eyebrow questioningly, but took his proffered hand and stood.

Truthfully, he was nervous. More than nervous. She had been very forgiving of his constant evasive answers. He was still getting used to speaking his mind, and it was a hard habit to form. More than anything, he wanted her to understand that he was not trying to hurt her feelings. He never wanted to hurt her. But for her to not be hurt by his words, for her to understand why he couldn't lose control, he'd have to show her what happened when he did.

He was... ashamed. She had never really seen this side of him, and he was not proud of it.

Over a month ago, she had told him that she wanted to know all about him. This was a fundamental part of himself, but if he told her... If she knew the devastation he could wreak...

He didn't want her to be afraid of him. He didn't want her to fear him like he feared her. Because truthfully, there wasn't a single person in the world he was more afraid of than Ginny Weasley. He_ needed _her, and it scared him on a primal level. If she withdrew from him... If she left him alone again... He might just break. Nobody had ever held that sort of power over him...

Her voice broke him out of his musings. "Where are we going, Harry?"

Without another word, he apparated them to his base.

* * *

His training portkey took them both to what had been labeled, "Ground Zero," by his godfather. As far as the eye could see, the place was a wasteland. The trees he had cut into pieces during his last visit were rotting; insects that had burrowed inside and gorged themselves on the soft pulp were crawling on every available surface as Ginny took in her new surroundings. "What happened here?" she asked, awestruck.

Harry took a deep breath, and then exhaled it slowly. He really didn't want to tell her this, but it was too late to turn back now. "Right after your family's Christmas party, I lost control. That's what happened here." Her eyes looked up into his, and he nodded. "_I_ am what happened here."

Ginny shook her head and looked around again, "But this is..." It looked like nothing she'd ever seen before, and it was not a reassuring feeling that seeped into her as her eyes roamed. Trees were sliced cleanly through, sometimes in as many as six or seven places. Others were smashed violently, with splinters littering the area around them. The carnage went impossibly far in every direction. The level of destruction... The sheer size of the area...

For the briefest moment, it was terrifying.

The Boy who Lived turned her shoulders towards him, a strange look on his face. "It's incredibly fortunate that I made it here before I lost control." He stared piercingly into her eyes, willing her to understand. "I just couldn't hold on any longer, and this was the result. Could you imagine this happening at the Burrow? At Hogwarts? _This_ is what I'm capable of, Ginny. This is _me_. I am a weapon. This is what I was raised to do, and it's what I'm best at. This was all I knew up until the day you met me.

"I am trying to integrate properly, but there is something wild inside of me and it screams for release..." the black-haired Gryffindor put his palm over his chest, digging his nails into the muscle there. "It's always just a heartbeat away...

"You asked me a question earlier, and my answer is that I enjoy kissing you because I feel a bit more human every time I make you smile." Harry shut his mouth for a moment, gathering his thoughts again as Ginny regarded him intently. He wanted so much for her to understand him.

"You are good, kind-hearted and innocent. You are untainted. I never realized it before, and I wouldn't have cared, but I'm a monster. Don't try to disagree, because I'm not arguing it. I am stating a fact. My hands are stained with blood. Stained since I was 8 years old, and it never washes off..." He trailed off, uncertain how to explain further what he was feeling.

While he was thinking, Ginny picked up his hands. Delicately, she placed light kisses on his fingers, his knuckles. His breath hitched as he watched this simple gesture. "Harry, do you believe in angels?"

"I have not observed any empirical data that would suggest or disprove the existence of angels." he stated immediately in his signature monotone.

With a secret smile, she whispered, "Well, I think you're my guardian angel. You're always watching over me, always protecting me." Leaning up on her toes, she dropped his hands and pulled his head down to hers.

Harry's eyes widened as her lips met his insistently, urgently. He could feel her need to make him see himself the way she saw him. She picked up his hands again and put them around her shoulders, wrapping her own around his waist. She let him envelop her, and let him feel the overwhelming sense of security that she felt whenever he held her.

After a short while, she broke the kiss and rested her head against his shoulder. Harry stared out over the destruction his hands had wrought and quietly asked, "Do you really see me like that?"

She just smiled into his chest and squeezed him tighter. She'd already answered him, and nothing else needed to be said.

* * *

"Okay, Ron, just like I showed you. Empty your mind; just let it float. Got it? Okay, keep that focus but open your eyes and look at me. That's it, now picture an image in your head and picture it disappearing into my eyes…"

After a long moment, Hermione quietly asked, "Did you try to send it yet?"

With a frustrated groan, Ron nodded glumly. "I'm rubbish at this, Hermione. I'm never going to get it!" Rubbing at his scalp in irritation, he started pacing around the common room.

Hermione frowned for a moment, and then brightened up a bit. "Cheer up! Harry said that anyone can learn to do basic surface legilimency, and you've already got the verbal part down, for the most part. All it takes is a good teacher and the proper motivation. Look at me, Ronald!"

He spun in place, meeting his girlfriend's eyes. "How many times do I have… to…" Ron trailed off as his girlfriend demonstrated surface legilimency once more by implanting an image into his head. An image of what would happen should he succeed before the night was up.

She grinned impishly as he stared blankly into space. "Is that 'motivational' enough?"

He blushed clear to the roots of his ginger hair and gulped hard. Sweet, merciful Merlin. "Right, let's try this again..."

He loved this woman. He _loved_ her.

* * *

"Well, I was thinking about an apprenticeship in the medi-witch program at St. Mungo's... They don't accept a lot of people, but my grades are good enough. I really like helping people, so it makes a lot of sense, but the program is really hard and it doesn't pay any money, so I'd have to get another job on top of the schooling and work portions of the program..." Ginny blushed. It was another Saturday night in the Room of Requirement, and they were chatting the night away as usual. Okay, it was mostly her chatting, with him listening as seriously as he always did.

She was somewhat ashamed of both her babbling and the fact that her family wasn't very well off. Even though Dad was the Minister of Magic, they never had enough money to be carefree with their spending. There were simply too many kids for a single-income family. They were comfortable, of course, but there was a good reason why almost every minister in the past had accepted bribes or gifts. She admired her father deeply for his resolve not to accept any favors, but it didn't mean she didn't wish they were better off.

Harry couldn't understand why people were so worried about money, but accepted the fact that he didn't know much about it. Everything he'd ever really needed had always been issued to him, and the only purchases he usually made were personal upgrades to replace his issued equipment and items. "That is an admirable goal, Ginny."

She favored him with a smile and asked, "What about you, Mr. 'I've saved the world on more occasions than I have fingers to count them'?"

He shook his head at her cheeky grin, and then turned serious. "Well, I never really gave it much thought before. I never imagined living past my fight with Voldemort, truthfully. I just thought I'd train, fight and take him down with me. After I survived, I thought I'd just keep doing missions until one finally ended me."

Harry saw the frown forming on her face and quickly continued, "But now I seem to dislike that thought. So I was thinking of training more people do the type of jobs I do. The ones that require an edge that most will never train hard enough to acquire. I think I'd have to be the teacher and leader for a while, and then I could just step back and let them take over. There's definitely a need for people like me..."

Ginny smiled broadly, patting him on the shoulder. "I think you'd make a fantastic teacher! And you certainly know your subject..." she chattered away again, but Harry's mind had started to drift.

He didn't know that telling someone about your hopes could feel so liberating. It seemed special, this moment between them. Not even his Godfather knew what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, and it felt amazingly good to get her approval.

* * *

"Thank you for coming, Harry. I'm sure you're wondering why you're in my office so early?" Albus Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.

The Boy who Lived hadn't wondered, actually. He honestly didn't care what he would be volunteered for. He was just glad that he was asked to report somewhere; it made him feel like he was still a soldier. Harry hadn't been assigned a mission since he had passed one on to Edwards. Other soldiers passed on missions occasionally, if not frequently. Was it a mistake for him to do the same? "No sir. The Ministry never trained me to wonder why." He often used this phrase to deal with nervous first-timers who overanalyzed every little aspect of their mission, pondering and thinking until they made themselves sick from it. It often reassured them, and over time it had become an automatic response.

The Headmaster chuckled, a smile appearing on his pale, weathered face. "Indeed." The fireplace roared to life, spitting Sirius Black and a young female out onto the plush carpeting.

Since the first time Harry had set foot inside this office, he had always marveled at how Dumbledore kept the fireplace carpet so immaculate when it was constantly being covered in soot and stepped on. Cleaning spells, which were as much a part of a soldier's life as offensive spells, tended to wear out the carpet when constantly applied, but this one always looked brand new.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stood rigidly and focused his attention on his godfather as he helped the brown-haired girl to her feet.

She was tall and slender, with the wide eyes and wobbly legs that were clear signs of a first time floo traveler. She was still staring at the ground, focusing on something that wasn't swimming in front of her eyes, trying to regain her equilibrium as she clutched weakly at Sirius' cloak. "Please, let's never do that again." she said in a quiet, unsteady voice. "That was easily the most uncomfortable ten seconds of my life."

If Sirius noticed how off-kilter she still was, he showed no signs of it. Instead, he clapped her heartily on the back and seemed entirely too happy for the occasion. She staggered under the force of Sirius' blow, but kept her footing. "Welcome to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! To your left is Albus Dumbledore, your new headmaster." he motioned to the wizened old man sitting comfortably behind his desk.

Albus nodded his head and smiled sympathetically at the poor girl, who was clearly being not accustomed to Sirius' rapid pace. It could be a tad overwhelming, he knew. The girl barely glanced up to acknowledge his presence, lest she lose her balance entirely.

"And to your right," Sirius said with a mischievous grin, "is your new bodyguard. Samantha Cameron, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce you to my godson, Harry Potter."

Samantha's bright blue eyes shot up to lock onto the Boy who Lived, who inwardly groaned at his godfather's flair for dramatics. A goofy grin spread across her face, and without as much as a 'how do you do', she fainted dead away and fell forward gracefully.

Sirius, who seemed to be waiting for this, caught her around the waist and hoisted her upright, then let out a barking laugh. "I knew it!"

Harry just shook his head. His godfather might be the Auror in Charge of Executive Protection, but he could be such a child, sometimes... Inwardly though, the Gryffindor was strangely pleased that someone was so surprised to be meeting him that they fainted. That had never happened before.

Sirius woke her with a casual flick of his wrist, and her head snapped up frantically. Her eyes finally settled back on Harry and grew even wider. Her grin returned and she flung herself at the Boy who Lived, latching onto his chest and cinching her arms down around him. Hugging him tightly, she let out an overwhelmingly fast torrent of words. She spoke so fast that he could barely understand her. "It's really you! I can't believe you're really going to be my bodyguard; this is going to be fantastic! Do you have to do what I tell you to? Would you come and rescue me if I was being picked on by large, dangerous-looking blokes? Would you teach me how to shoot a gun? Are you going to follow me around all the time wearing dark sunglasses and a black suit, like in the movies? Will you tuck me in at night? Will you-"

Whatever he might have had to do was cut off with a wave of Sirius' wand; he had silenced her. Nonplussed, she shut her mouth and happily continued to hug the green-eyed Gryffindor, giggling mutely in contentment. Harry was feeling both confused at how quickly she had latched onto him and happy that she was so affectionate. He found that after over a decade with minimal contact outside of Sirius and Remus, he craved physical touch a great deal. He did feel a bit hesitant, however: how would Ginny react? She didn't seem to like it when other women were affectionate with him...

"I'll give you the short version of the briefing so you can get to... breakfasting." Sirius said cheerfully, though Harry was sure that breakfast was hardly what his godfather meant. "Her father is working on the Winters case with me, and he needs assurance that his daughter will be taken care of. I know there's nobody that can take care of her better than you can, so you've got the job. Until we find Dr. Winters, you'll be watching over her and making sure that she's safe and happy. She has been placed in all of your classes. If she cannot keep up with her schoolwork, then you are to tutor her personally. If she isn't asleep in the Girls' Dormitory or in the loo, then you are not to leave her side. Your mission is 'close protection'. She is currently designated as a class 5 target; treat all threats accordingly. All information regarding this mission is classified, Alpha clearance only. You are authorized to use any and all means necessary to accomplish your objectives. Any questions?"

Harry stood rigidly at attention, or as close to rigidly at attention as he could manage while a girl was hanging off of him. "No sir!" he said firmly, feeling a rush of mixed emotions about this new mission. Of course he had questions, but Sirius wouldn't have the answers he was looking for. Her father was David Cameron? They were searching for Dr. Winters? She was a class 5 target? That was the highest class, indicating an imminent attack on her life, with zero regard for collateral damage. Someone really wanted her dead. The familiar weight of responsibility settled around his shoulders, causing a tightening behind his navel.

Sirius nodded firmly, but his grim nature was somewhat lessened by the chuckle he was trying very hard to conceal with a cough. It wasn't working. "Very well. Dismissed!" he barked. Turning sharply, he threw more floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared in a flash of green.

The Boy who Lived swore that his godfather was laughing as he left. What had Sirius gotten him into? As he looked down at the still-silenced girl nuzzling his chest affectionately, he decided that this was going to be one of the more difficult assignments he had ever accepted. The real question wasn't how to protect her from her enemies, whoever they may be, but how to protect them both from being murdered by Ginny Weasley.


	18. A Matter of Time

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XVIII: A Matter of Time.

"May I have your attention, students." Dumbledore asked in his calm, resonating voice after most of the students had assembled in the Great Hall for breakfast. As expected of the headmaster, every head in the audience turned quickly towards him as he smiled widely. "Today we welcome a new student into our midst. This is Samantha. I have placed her in Gryffindor House at her request. Please try your best to ensure that she feels welcome during her time here at Hogwarts."

Samantha, for her part, stood quickly and waved to the crowd. After a short while, she resumed what she'd been doing before, which was simply sitting next to Harry Potter and pressing as much of her body against him as possible.

And giggling, all the while.

Ginny, for her part, sat on the other side of Harry Potter -conspicuously _not_ pressing her body into him or giggling- merely gripping her fork with as much pressure as she could muster.

_Relax, Ginny,_ her inner monologue soothed. _I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for this._ She clutched at her fork convulsively as her inner monologue asked questions she'd rather not think about. _But really, what in the hell does she think she's doing to my best mate?_

_And why the sodding _HELL_ isn't he doing something about... whatever she thinks she's doing?!_

She surreptitiously eyed the woman sitting on the other side of the Boy who Lived, sighing as she realized that he had no intention of stopping her from clinging to him. And why would he? By a woman's comparison, there wasn't a single area that she could claim victory in. 'Samantha' was taller, curvier and prettier... Her boobs, which were pressing insistently against Harry's well-muscled arm, were probably a full cup-size bigger, too. She just looked so damn _mature_, making Ginny look positively childish by comparison.

Envy and jealousy jockeyed for position at the forefront of her mind, and she sighed in defeat as her fork clattered to the table. "I'm not hungry."

"Ginny?" Harry inquired in his signature monotone. His eyes were actively scanning the area for threats, which itself was odd, as he hadn't done that since the first few weeks of term. "Ginny, will you...?" He didn't bother asking a proper question, she noted in annoyance, but she turned to face him anyway.

_Ginny, please try to understand..._ his voice echoed in her head as she met his eyes, it was tinged with an urgency she'd rarely heard in him. _This is not my secret to tell._

She recalled the exact moment he'd said that phrase to her before, when she'd read his journal and he'd been exceptionally vague in places. Certain places relating to his _other_ job.

_Is that it?_ Ginny wondered idly. _Is this a mission? I probably shouldn't make too much out of it. He's a soldier, after all... Missions are his life._

Just as she started to smile at him, Samantha reached across him to grab another piece of toast. Her well-developed boobs rubbed against his chest in a decidedly non-accidental way, and for far longer than it took to take hold of a piece of toast. _Why are you fumbling about with toast? For Merlin's sake, woman, stop juggling and take a piece! _Ginny felt her blood pressure double as her jaw clenched; all thoughts of reconciliation were burned from her mind in that instant. And still he sat there! He even had the gall to let his eyes slip out of focus, like he was savoring the feeling! _What's with that distracted face, you fiend?!_

_Damn you, Harry Potter... we're in a fight!_ She mentally screamed at the Boy who Lived, and she swore she saw him visibly flinch at her mental outburst. Somewhat mollified by his reaction, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the Great Hall.

_We were making such good progress... and now _this_. Merlin, Harry, do you have to ruin everything?_

* * *

It wasn't 'til lunch that Ginny's older brother accidentally let slip that 'Sam' would be in Harry's classes.

_Every. Single. Class._

Ginny let her distaste for that fact be known in loud and pointed terms, but all she could think was: _bugger._ As if someone with boobs that big _needed_ another advantage...

"Come off it, Gin, they're only in class. It's not like they're shagging in there..." he laughed far too hard. How suspicious.

In true Weasley fashion, Ginny stuttered and tried in vain to fight the rapidly spreading blush on her cheeks. A particularly juicy fantasy, which just so happened to involve the Boy who Lived and a certain Charms classroom, was playing out in her head mockingly. The caveat being Samantha's part as the female lead, rather than herself.

How perfectly _irritating._

Hermione just shot him a glare, which shut him up rather blissfully. "What Ron is try to say, and ever-so-delicately, as usual, is that Harry isn't the type. They're just in the same classes, it's not like he spends every waking minute with her. Right? So cheer up!" She smiled supportively, and Ginny felt that she could almost believe her when she said it like that.

Of course, Harry had to go and ruin everything.

_Again._

Because, point in fact, the Boy who Lived _did_ spend every waking minute with Samantha. He walked her to breakfast, walked her to classes, lunch, dinner, the library, the Quidditch pitch where she watched all his practices... He probably even walked her to the loo and tucked her in at night!

Bloody _brilliant_, that Hermione. At least _she _had the decency to look ashamed when she found out...

It didn't help Ginny's caustic self-esteem at all when Harry asked about their 'study sessions'. "If you're going to bring _her_," she spat out with as much vitriol as her frustrated and thoroughly depressed voice could manage, "then don't bother showing up!"

He honestly didn't understand why she was so adamant on it being just the two of them up there. As if he didn't understand the meaning of the word 'intimacy'. As if it were perfectly acceptable to bring another girl when you _knew_ you were going to be massaging an _entirely different_, _for-all-intents-and-purposes-naked_ _girl_.

_How did they allow you to be this dense, dammit? Haven't we taught you anything?!_ The youngest Weasley seethed.

It also didn't help when Ginny noticed how jumpy the Boy who Lived had become. He was constantly reaching for his wand and looking around to investigate small noises. It was as if he'd just stepped off the Hogwart's Express all over again.

Looking in the mirror the next Monday had been the last straw. She'd really let herself go over the past week, due to her preoccupation with Harry's new arm-candy. Her skin was dry and paler than usual, her lips were chapped; her hair was stringy and frayed. Was that a zit?!

She needed to get motivated. She needed direction. Anything that would get her focused and back on track. A week of watching this twisted play had caused her no end of stress. Harry had started journaling to release his pent-up frustration, so she could flip that coin and start running. Maybe even add a few crunches in there somewhere, to work on those 'abdominal striations' that Harry had found attractive not too long ago.

As she stared at her reflection, she watched her eyes harden and her jaw set firmly. _It's war, then. Isn't that what Harry always says? If you care about something, you'd better be ready to go to war for it. Life is a battlefield... a battlefield of the will and of the mind._

A newfound sense of purpose and determination filled her as she splashed her face with water and stalked over to her bed to unearth her trainers. Sure it would hurt, and sure it would be undignified to be sweaty and red-faced and gasping. But it would hurt less than the alternative, which was potentially losing the Boy who Lived.

She might not be as tall or curvy or pretty as Samantha, but she wouldn't lose quietly. If Samantha wanted Harry Potter's heart, she'd have to fight for it!

* * *

Harry ate his usual second breakfast as he mentally mapped out the routes he'd take Samantha to her classes on. It was mainly to keep from taking the same route in a regular interval, which was a proven method for bypassing an ambush, but it also served to distract him.

He'd never understood before why people would go out of their way to be distracted from a problem that urgently needed to be addressed, but now it struck him quite clearly: Harry Potter didn't _want_ to deal with this problem. Try as he might, he couldn't think of a way to win. And he _hated _losing. So, despite feeling like he was letting himself down, he had pushed the problem away. He was beginning to appreciate how hopelessly tangled emotional attachments could be. Thinking of it left him tired and it _hurt_ in a way he'd never known.

Despite his resolution to put it out of his mind, he couldn't help but come back to the dark cloud looming overhead. He had been forced into a mission, and while that would usually be cause for celebration, especially after his long break, this one was bittersweet.

His missions had always been removed from Hogwarts, once he'd begun attending. He had his job, and he had his schooling. Even though his original mission had been to attend the Wizarding School, there was always something intrinsically removed about the place. Like it was a respite from the 'other' world; a Ministry-sanctioned vacation. He was a soldier, but at Hogwarts, he could pretend to be just another student. And maybe, if he pretended long enough, he would've started to believe it to be truth.

They had always been separate, before. But now... Now the two were utterly intertwined. He couldn't help but feel a sense of loss over it. His thoughts turned to the women in his life that represented that intertwining.

Samantha Cameron was ... clingy. She rarely let go of him, and it was always to perform some vital function, such as racing through her homework or using the loo. As much as he pretended to be unaffected, certain parts of her anatomy definitely ... affected him, so to speak. She was sweet-smelling and soft in a way he'd never experienced, and it took a considerable amount of concentration not to be distracted unduly by her mannerisms. He'd never been around someone so openly affectionate, and it was a pleasant, if worryingly constant, experience. His morning workouts were his only moments of solitude, and he found himself longing for more quiet mornings in a day.

And then there was Ginny Weasley. His heart constricted predictably as his attention turned to her once again. It wasn't an acute pain, like a knife wound or a burn. It was a dull, persistent ache that throbbed in his chest with every heartbeat. The sensation was intensely uncomfortable, but he focused through the novel sting.

Ginny Weasley was hurting, too. His mission, his _duty_ was hurting her. Seeing him with Ms. Cameron was hurting her. He couldn't tell her that she was a class 5 target, since it was classified information and would certainly lead to questions he couldn't answer, like _why_ she was a target. If her enemies found out she was here... So he kept quiet, just like he'd been trained. He kept quiet even though his silence was hurting his best mate.

He didn't know how he knew, but it was as clear to him as the weather outside. He'd told her that he wanted to be her best mate, he'd told her of his feelings, of things that he had never told another, and still she doubted how much she meant to him. It vexed him, frustrated him deeply. How much reassurance would she need before she finally felt secure?

The only way to reassure Ginny completely, by his estimation, would be to remove Samantha from Hogwarts. But he couldn't do that. He'd been entrusted with her safety, and her life was certainly in imminent danger. Pushing her away, especially at a critical time like this, would be unconscionable.

But how to resolve this situation to the benefit of all parties? He hadn't the slightest clue, and dwelling on it would not hasten its resolution. Which was precisely why it was best not to think about this situation.

His logic had completed the full loop, and he was left exactly where he started. It was a pleasant distraction, while it lasted. _How frustrating._

As he dug into his scrambled eggs with renewed vigor, he was understandably surprised to see Ginny Weasley, fully one-half of his current dilemma, enter the Great Hall. She had been sweating. Profusely.

Struck by the peculiarity of this, since Ginny Weasley never exercised outside of Quidditch practice, he caught himself staring as she neared his table and straddled the bench next to him. She wasn't here for breakfast; she sat facing him, her knees scraping against his leg. She leaned in and stared up at him silently, her face dangerously close.

The familiar smell of exertion hit him, and he smiled as he touched her with a drying and a warming charm. "You'll send your body into shock if you don't keep warm, since your core body temperature will drop significantly after an elevated level of activity."

Ginny's eyebrow was raised archly as she appraised him, but her expression was unusually guarded. "So now you care?" She appeared to take grim satisfaction in seeing his face contort.

"I do not understand your question, Ginny. Of course I care. What would give you the impression that my affection had ceased?" His frown was only marginal, but his frustration was rapidly returning. His chest hurt again. The mind of Ginny Weasley was a logic puzzle with no known solutions.

"Really, Harry, you're just too dense for your own good..." She smiled good-naturedly at his mechanical response. Her cheeks flushed as a thought flitted across her consciousness. "Look, I didn't come here to snipe at you. I just came to tell you... that it's okay. This... whatever it is that's going on with you and Samantha, it's okay. You're probably a bit confused right now, and really, I understand. You're not used to someone throwing their body at you like that, you're not used to people latching onto you and giggling _so annoyingly_..."

She paused to catch her breath and refocus, and continued with a drive that he'd rarely seen in her. "It's just... I wish you understood me, too, you know? I'm not the most confident girl, and I know I sometimes react without really thinking it through... I know I'm rough at the edges, and I never trust you as much as I should. And really, I shouldn't doubt my best mate like that. So this time... I'm going to trust you." Her hand, still trembling from her earlier exertions, came up to rest reassuringly on his shoulder.

"I'm going to trust that you know what you're doing, that the things you told me weren't lies. Moreover..." her blush deepened as a smile played at her wind-chapped lips, "I came to tell you that I'm done lying down and watching this tragedy, okay? This time... I'm going to fight for you."

She exhaled and gathered her thoughts again, dropping her hand and focusing on his eyes. Her quiet resolve was bare and unrestrained. "So I'll leave for now, and I'll let you continue doing whatever it is that you've been doing lately, but it's going to frustrate the hell out of me. _You_ are going to frustrate the bleeding _hell_ out of me. I can't promise you that I won't start slinging hexes... But I'll forgive you. Because you're worth it, okay? So don't think for a minute that I'm going to let you go without a fight! You got that, Harry Potter?"

He stared down at her smiling face, saw the determination etched into her features. She was vibrant this morning, and it eased the heavy knot that had been twisting in his chest for the last few days. He returned her smile and nodded, somehow feeling infinitely more at ease with the entire situation than he had been even 5 minutes ago. "I'd like that, Ginny..." he whispered, unwilling to speak louder for fear it would shatter this rare moment, "I'd like that very much."

With a firm nod, the redheaded Gryffindor said, "Good! Then, will you go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Yes, I will be calling this a 'date', and yes, you are supposed to be asking me." The smile didn't leave her face, but he could tell that she was working hard to keep it in place. She was nervous.

A warm wave of fondness swept through him as he smiled more widely. She really did affect him in indescribably pleasant ways. Not for the first time, he felt a profound sense of thankfulness for her presence in his life. "Then... will you go to Hogsmeade with me, Ginny?" He tried not to laugh as a visible sigh of relief escaped her lips. Did she really think that he'd reject her, after everything they'd been through?

"I'll think about it." she replied playfully as she stood, knuckling her back and stretching widely. "Well then... see you around, Harry."

And just like that, she left.

Harry shook his head as he resumed shoveling the cold eggs into his mouth, unable to keep the smile off of his face.

* * *

As the thick tome slapped shut with a note of dusty finality, the bushy-haired Gryffindor sat back in her chair and tapped her wand against the parchment in front of her, drying the ink instantly. She hummed a wordless tune as she methodically folded her parchment and packed her bags, sending each book on the table floating back to its intended location with a casual flick of her wrist. There was comfort in her rituals, and they were exceptionally comfortable today.

Hermione Jane Granger was pleased. And it wasn't just because she had finished her potions essay the day it was assigned. There were several good reasons for it, really.

It wasn't entirely because her cheeks were flushed, although she could say with some certainty that she had been blushing at least hourly ever since Ron had gotten the hang of surface legilimency. Practice made perfect, after all, and her boyfriend was well on his way to excellence if he kept on at his current rate.

Nor was it simply because she'd finally written to her parents and explained to them, in a clear, thorough and straightforward manner, exactly why she could think of no better man to spend the rest of her life with than Ronald Bilius Weasley. NOT the grocer's son down the street, and certainly not "Richard Blakely's boy", whoever the _sodding hell_ that was. She loved her mum, but the constant meddling and matchmaking had become a grating thorn in her side.

After much consideration, she decided that her happiness was mostly due to the simple fact that she, Hermione Jane Granger, was perfectly content with her current situation. She had no impending disasters to distract her from preparing for her NEWTs next year, she hadn't had the slightest urge to change herself lately, she was very pleasantly surprised with her boyfriend's newfound creative streak in the field of legilimency, her closest friends were getting along famously, and her chest was, at long last, readily distinguishable from a boy's. Her small breasts had been the subject of more than a few insults throughout the years, and she cheerfully noted that nobody had bothered slighting 'the twins' this year.

It was harder to tell who was more pleased about that last item, though: her or her boyfriend. He was only too happy to show her just how much he enjoyed her most recent growth spurt. How much he enjoyed _her_.

Hermione loved being loved, quite simply, and no one was better at that then Ron. His confidence was lacking at times, but nothing boosted his ego like getting something right. And surface legilimency, they'd decided, was incredibly, exceedingly _right_. Right up there with 'the twins', even. His confidence had soared after successfully implanting an image in her head for the first time. It was a picture of the two of them from third year, the first picture they'd ever had taken together. His teeth were still too big for his mouth, his freckles glowed neon in the harsh lighting and his gangly arm waved awkwardly at the camera as Hermione leaned into him with a smile. Her hair was a disaster, her teeth were vaguely rabbit-like and her eyebrows were miniature bushes. It was a beautiful memory. Every minute detail of it was replicated, which was quite a feat for Ron's first projection. Her heart swelled as she recalled the smile that lit his face up afterwards.

Hermione, who had been "Plain-Jane Granger" for as long as she could remember, had a deep sense of pride in knowing that she could inspire someone like that. She cherished those times most of all; he was so very masculine when his confidence was up. She loved that side of him, and she loved the fact that she was responsible for dragging it out.

She loved _him_, and nothing in the world pleased her more than that quiet admission.

She wondered what her parents would think when she brought home a wizard. She wondered what they'd think of the world that wizard would bring with him. She wondered what sort of job that wizard would get after Hogwarts, while she attended Uni. She wondered a lot of things, when her mind wasn't engaged with her schoolwork. She'd always been a long-term thinker, and this school year had caused her to reevaluate her priorities in life.

Ron wanted to do something physical, that much was obvious. He'd flirted with the idea of being a professional Quidditch player during his 5th year, but dismissed it as too much of a long-shot. So few people ever made a living at Quidditch, and Ron just couldn't imagine himself among those few. This year his dream had solidified. He wanted more than a few matches a year. He wanted action and adventure. He wanted a thousand stories to tell his children and his children's children.

The Auror program at the Ministry of Magic was his new goal. He wanted to make her proud, he said. He wanted to catch Dark Wizards. He wanted to look in the mirror and see a warrior staring steadily back at him.

In short, he wanted to be Harry Potter.

She loved Harry, of course. How could she not love someone who had done so much for them? It was a motherly sort of love, however; something far removed from the feelings she had for her boyfriend. Even that level of emotional attachment was taxing. Every time he disappeared, every day that passed without word of where he was or whether he was safe, she felt a now-familiar thrill of dread cinching a little tighter inside her chest.

He was good, Merlin help him but the man was good at what he did, but so many things could still go wrong. He wasn't immortal. Damn near impossible to kill, she knew, but he was still human. Still just as capable of dying as anyone else. And he'd come so close to it so many times...

She could never have a relationship with someone like that, and it was something that she deeply admired about Ginny. She couldn't stand the waiting, couldn't stand the silence. Not knowing where he was, if he was safe... She'd crack under the strain of it.

Before this year, it had been enough to simply know that Ronald Weasley was hers. Now, however, she realized that she needed more. She needed Ron to understand that she wouldn't be able to survive a relationship with a man who hunted Dark Wizards for a living.

In short, she needed Ron Weasley. _Not_ a redheaded Harry Potter. One 'Savior of the Wizarding World' was quite enough, thank you.

Now she just needed to disabuse her boyfriend of the idea that he needed to be the next Boy who Lived to prove himself to her. He needn't try any harder than he already was. Every time he turned that triumphant smile to her, he confirmed just how right she had been to fall in love with him.

Hermione had plenty of time, but she really couldn't wait to begin the 'disabusing'. _And if the last three days are any indication,_ she thought as she shouldered her weightless bag with a secret smile, _then he'll enjoy the process immensely._

* * *

After her dramatic confrontation over second breakfast, Ginny had worked hard at her promise. She ran every morning and followed up with an ab workout, eating less pudding and red meat and more leafy greens. After two weeks of her new regimen she already felt more comfortable in her own skin than she had in a long while. She couldn't see much of a difference yet, physically, but she didn't expect her figure to change overnight. She was in this for the long term, after all.

It seemed childish now, but one thing she _did_ expect to change overnight was the distance between the Boy who Lived and the _tumor_ growing out of his right arm. There was no other way to describe it, really. Every single time she saw Samantha, she was attached in the exact same spot and showed no intentions of separating from her best mate. If anything, she clung to him more tightly when she noticed Ginny staring at her. _'Must not stab'_ had quickly become her new mantra during mealtimes.

Her dormmates were skillfully exacerbating the problem, as usual. As if they could _smell_ her newfound determination, they now appeared to speak of nothing but Harry Potter when she was within earshot. Last Thursday was a shining example of why she hated girls. She just _hated _them...

She'd just come up from Quidditch practice, once more choosing to skip her usual post-practice meal. Her dormmates were all sitting in a close circle on Katie's bed, and that should've been all the warning she needed. She should've turned around and slept in the Common Room...

"Gin!" the bottle-blonde simpered, "we were just talking about you! Come, sit!"

_At least she's honest..._ Ginny thought as she grabbed her favorite pillow, made her way over to her tentatively-termed 'friends' and plopped down amongst them on top of the thick, silky and intensely pink comforter.

Katie took the opportunity to catch her redheaded dormmate up on the course of the conversation over the last hour. It didn't take long. "We've been chatting about Harry and the transfer student. She's certainly taken with him, isn't she? Well, Rose's friend Lucy is in Charms with them and says they don't look any different in class than they do anywhere else. She says they look cute together, but I tell her that you looked cuter with him. It might sound insensitive of us to ask so soon after your breakup, but we figured he must be pretty amazing in the broom closet if she's hanging off of him like that all the time. So we wanted to know how he was. Spill it, Gin!"

Ginny's face had gotten progressively darker as her dormmate chattered on. _Cute? Breakup? Broom closet?!_ "First of all, I keep telling you that we aren't together. I mean, we haven't really talked about it, so calling it a 'breakup' when we were never really 'together' is pretty harsh... and what the _bleeding hell_ do you mean by 'amazing in the broom closet'?!"

"You know, shagging. Is he really that amazing?" Katie said bluntly, not having the basic decency to look away or even _blush_ as she pried... _Merlin!_

"I don't... I mean, we haven't..." Ginny felt her face ignite clear to her hairline. She was probably blushing clear down to her knees. _Don't you have any shame, Kate?!_

The girls went positively _spare_ over this stammered admission, of course. Katie let out a shocked gasp, as if Ginny's lack of a sex life was somehow a personal affront. "Oh Gin, we thought you were just too shy to talk about it... Honestly, how did you expect to keep him around when you never gave him any 'incentive' to stay?" She managed to sound sympathetic as she mourned her dormmate's chastity, and the other girls cooed their condolences. It was quite an impressive feat.

Ginny only _barely_ bit back her retort, which was shaping up to be a hysterical shriek along the lines of, "_Oh, like that route has worked so brilliantly for you slags!_" Instead, she voiced a much more even-toned and diplomatic answer. Harry was certainly improving her ability to hold her tongue. "Harry isn't one of those guys, Kate. He's always been a perfect gentleman, and I'm sure he's not doing anything like that with Samantha." _At least he'd better not be doing anything like that, if he plans to survive with his bits intact_... she thought with a weak smile.

The girls giggled again. Oh, how Ginny longed to rip out those simpering little vocal chords... "Gentleman?" Katie asked amusedly. "It's a bit more than that, girl. Men are all just animals when you get right down to it. They'll use whatever route is available, even being a gentleman, as long as it's the fastest possible route to getting you naked."

Ginny's smile faltered for moment. _How much do they know? Because before Samantha came, I used to get naked for him at least twice a week for a full-body massage..._

Katie, predictably, mistook the faltering grin for something else. "So you _did_ manage to find a broom closet big enough for the Boy who Lived! No need to be embarrassed, you can tell us all about it! It's human nature, after all. Was he forceful? Is he hung like a hippogriff?!"

"Dammit, Kate! I said we haven't, okay?!" Ginny's fists balled tightly as she squeezed her pillow in frustration. Her dormmates really did have one-track minds. "And besides, you would definitely know if he was planning on changing that. He'd probably ask you lot a bunch of embarrassing questions about me before he did anything, like what sort of music I preferred and what my favorite position was and such... He'd be rather methodical about that sort of thing, I'd imagine. He's rather methodical about every sort of thing, really..."

She hadn't meant to go on like that, but anything that kept Katie from speaking for another second was worth it. Merlin, but the girl was irritating sometimes...

As she finished talking, however, she was met with the silent stares of every last one of her dormmates. "... What?"

What followed her monosyllabic and entirely innocent question was, in hindsight, the most incredibly embarrassing string of questions she'd ever had the displeasure of being asked. She still hadn't worked the blush entirely off of her face. It had been 4 days.

Now every time she blinked, her rather vivid imagination conjured the most scandalous, indecent images inside her eyelids... and she couldn't even pretend that she wasn't hoping for at least _some_ of it to actually happen. Now she couldn't even look Harry in the eye, out of a very real fear that he'd read what she was thinking. She'd probably never be able to speak to him again if he knew what was now replaying every blink in full-color stereophonic. Or rather, what Katie and her tittering, slaggish dormmates had injected forcefully into her brain.

She hated girls. Merlin, she _hated_ them...

"Ginny? You wanted to talk to me?" Neville Longbottom's timid tenor broke her out of her vitriolic ruminations.

"Hm? Oh, of course. Please sit down." She motioned to the chair across from her in the History section of the Library. Nobody ever came here for anything book-related unless there was a huge project due soon, so it guaranteed them a modicum of privacy. One of the tricks she'd picked up from her dormmates. Dirty rotten slags, the lot of them.

As soon as Neville had situated himself properly, she started, "You're in a lot of Harry's classes, I just wanted to know what he's like in them." _Like how does he get anything done with Samantha clinging to him all the time_...

"Oh..." Neville scratched his head as he thought about it. "I'm not too sure, really. I don't make a habit of watching him. He's... sort of normal, I guess. Well, as normal as Harry Potter can be." He shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"Normal? Samantha clinging to him like that all the time is hardly normal... Three weeks she's been like that, and nobody is telling her off for any of it! I mean, if I were clinging to him like that all the time I'd be laughed at, or there'd be these awkward silences when I walked into a room because you _know_ they were all just talking about me... But everyone just accepts what Samantha does as the status quo!" Ginny scowled as she mulled it over. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone about this lately; Harry was completely out of the question and she was still not on speaking terms with her traitorous dormmates, so the frustration had been building inside of her rather dangerously. She was really glad that Neville was available to vent on.

"I mean... why can't I decide what normal is, instead of everyone else? Samantha wouldn't be given the run of the place just for being tall and pretty, Harry wouldn't let her cling to his arm _every bleeding minute_, and I wouldn't be singled out for being the only one of my dormmates who wasn't a tittering, nosey slag!"

Neville stared at her for a short while, taken aback by the vehemence in her usually soft voice. She'd really been bottling it up, apparently. "Well, I can sort of understand that." he replied cautiously, "I'd like a sort of normal, myself."

The redhead looked at him curiously, desperate for something to take her mind off of the unfairness of her own situation. She could be rather nosey when she needed to. Not so much tittering or slaggish, though. "What would you change, then?"

Blinking at the abrupt question, Neville leaned back and thought for a moment in silence. He didn't plan for this, but he'd grown to trust the youngest Weasley over the past few months. If she honestly wanted to know, then he didn't mind telling her the truth. "Well for starters, I'd make it normal for healers to know how to fix my parents. They were tortured with the _Cruciatus_ by Death Eaters until they lost their minds. Then I'd make it normal for my parents to be at home instead of in St. Mungo's. The only 'normal' I get from them is an empty bubblegum wrapper every now and again..." he fought the urge to blush in embarrassment as he pointedly looked anywhere but at her.

Ginny blanched at the sudden seriousness of the conversation. "Merlin, Nev... I'm sorry. I didn't... I didn't know." Her excuse sounded lame even in her head.

Neville shrugged, "It's not your fault, you know. We've all got things we wished were different. I think you're pretty lucky, since you can change a few of yours. I'd give anything to have my parents back. It's one reason I'm so interested in herbology, actually. I'm rubbish at potions, but I keep wondering if someday I'll discover some new herb that will finally let my parents be 'normal' again. It's a bit of a stretch, I know, but there's still hope. I can still see them, even if they don't recognize me most of the time. As long as they're alive, there's still hope. I have to hope that there's something out there, you know? Something that can change; something worth looking forward to..."

The pair fell into a contemplative silence for a long moment before Neville spoke up again. "So this thing with Harry... I don't think he knows that he's doing anything wrong. He's pretty new at this whole 'normal' thing, but I don't think he's the type of bloke who would treat your feelings lightly..."

Ginny smiled at that. "I know... I love that about him. I love a lot of things about him, really... I'm just not very confident when I look at Samantha. She's pretty, she's outgoing and she already draws top marks in all her classes... I wonder what Harry sees in me, when he's got someone like her throwing herself at him. He sort of asked me to Hogsmeade this weekend, did you know?" She grinned a bit wider, gloating internally about her victory over the taller, curvier brunette.

"I should really try to make this weekend count, I guess. I think it'll help clear the air around us. Just being around him puts me in a good mood..."

* * *

Ginny Weasley was most assuredly _not_ in a good mood.

First her _date_ started off on a sour note because _Sam_,who looked positively _stellar_, showed up _still_ latched onto Harry's arm and wasted no time in completely ruining Ginny's courage and self-confidence with her good looks and charisma.

Harry even had the nerve to ask if something was wrong. _Why yes, Harry, something is terribly wrong, and it's _you_, bringing _her_ on _our_ date!_ Merlin help him, but he was so damn thick sometimes!

Why the hell was she coming along, anyway?! There was something fishy going on, there...

Second, _Sam_ had dragged them around to all the shops she'd wanted to, and Ginny had planned on going to every last one of them! The youngest Weasley got the unsettling feeling that if they weren't opponents in the war for Harry's feelings, they would have been great friends. Maybe she should be nicer to her...

Psh.

Sometimes she really hated being nice.

Thirdly, an unexpected visitor showed up. It wasn't Celestina Warbeck, either. It was none other than the proud Hogwarts expellee and future dark lord himself, Draco Malfoy.

Ginny didn't know who looked more surprised: Draco, when Samantha bumped into him, or Harry, when Draco dropped his glamour charms. His voice sounded so different now... like he'd aged a lifetime in the few short months he'd been gone. "Hello, Ms. Cameron. I can't tell you how... disappointed I was when I found that you'd disappeared with your father. It's truly providential that I'd meet you here. The pleasure, I'm afraid, will be all mine."

The scion of Malfoy had a wicked smile that seemed far too eager, considering how poorly he had fared last time Harry got his hands on him. But instead of dismissing the blonde boy out of hand, Ginny felt the hairs on her neck stand on end as both men began gathering enormous amounts of magic. Harry stepped away from her and Samantha, distancing himself from them as she felt a peripheral wave of heat from a growing magical discharge. Harry looked intense.

The hair on the back of her neck was tingling. What was Harry doing? This couldn't be good...

No sooner had she thought it then she was violently launched into the air. She screamed in horror and was surprised to hear her scream echoed by Samantha, who was traveling alongside her through the air in an enormous parabolic arc. Then they both disappeared from view. Had Harry just disillusioned them?! He was amazing...

They were literally sailing through the air back towards Hogwarts, with the howling wind whipping about them violently. Miraculously, they both managed to cling to their bags as they rapidly neared the castle.

Harry's voice reverberated inside her mind, _"Take Samantha straight to Dumbledore, don't trust anyone else! If anyone tries to stop you before you get to his office, even Dumbledore himself, stun them and run! Hurry!"_

As profoundly irritating as it was to have Harry tell her to get _Samantha_ to Dumbledore's office with not a word about her own safety, she recognized the stress in his voice. It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. She didn't know what had just happened, but it was incredibly serious.

They neared the ground still traveling at a startling rate of speed, and Ginny felt her throat constrict as she realized that she wouldn't be able to turn her legs toward the ground in time. She was set to land flat on her back. She braced herself for impact and ... bounced?

Yes... _bounced_. Once, twice, and then settled gently onto the grass inside the gates.

That was a terrifying and nauseating ride. Twenty times worse than her first floo...

Brushing her robes off as she stood, Ginny shakily felt around for, and then helped an equally trembling Samantha to her feet and pulled her by the hand towards the main entrance. She pointedly ignored the brunette's constant questioning about who that man was, where they were going, what they were doing, how they got there and why they were invisible. The youngest Weasley's wand was in her hand and she was ready to hex anyone who stepped in front of her. As mad as she was with the Boy who Lived, she wouldn't let Harry down!

Neville overheard her telling Samantha _once again_ to shut up on the second floor, entering an intersection when he heard her whispered voice from down the hall. "Ginny? Is that-" the red jet of light hit him squarely in the chest, and his confused expression relaxed instantly as he collapsed on the ground.

Ginny stepped over the freshly-stunned Gryffindor, murmuring a quiet apology to the unconscious boy.

Samantha whispered fiercely, "Okay, what the bleeding hell was that?!"

The young redhead rounded on the girl, trying to keep her voice down as she whispered towards where she was grasping the brunette's hand. "Harry told me to get you straight to Dumbledore and stun anyone in the way! If you trust him, then shut up and stay right behind me! Merlin!"

With a disgusted gasp, the newest Gryffindor whipped out her wand and pointed it behind them, checking the hallway for movement as they hurried towards the Headmaster's office. "Why didn't you say so in the first place, dammit?! I've got one of those fancy glowing sticks too, you know!"

Despite the situation, Ginny couldn't help but grin. She wanted so badly to hate this woman, but she wasn't making it easy...

* * *

When they finally reached Dumbledore's office, the gargoyle moved away automatically for them. They climbed the stairs as quietly as they could and entered the room to see their Headmaster staring gravely at a large, ghostlike stag. Was that a corporeal patronus? Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively and it disappeared in a swirl of mist. He looked grim...

In a blink, he was back to being their slightly batty headmaster. That was an impressive shift to make, but she didn't have time to think about it at the moment. With a casual swish of his wand, the headmaster cancelled their disillusionment.

Dumbledore offered them both a lemon drop, which they both refused on principle alone, and then offered them seats, which they took gratefully.

"Please, relax. You are both quite safe now. I'm sure you both have questions, but before you begin I must tell you, Ms. Cameron, that you will have to be relocated tonight. Now that your whereabouts are known, you are no longer completely safe at Hogwarts. You will most likely be remanded back into Mr. Black's custody. It will be a burden on both of you, certainly, but your safety is more important than your comfort."

"That's not fair!" Samantha shouted, suddenly finding her voice. Her throat had constricted when the headmaster told her she'd have to leave. She hadn't made many friends, regrettably, but she was near her idol every single day. "I don't care if I'm slightly less safe here, I want to stay!"

The headmaster shook his head firmly, "Of course it's not fair, child. I am truly sorry for that, but I would rather you be safe and unhappy somewhere else than here and at the slightest additional risk. And I'm quite sure that your father would agree with me. This is not negotiable, Ms. Cameron. You will be leaving tonight."

After scowling at the old man across the table for a long while as Ginny looked on, the brunette finally spoke again, "Fine. At least tell us what the hell just happened. Who was that blonde-haired man?"

Dumbledore looked tired as he answered, "Ah, yes. That was Draco Malfoy, a recent Hogwarts student and an even more recent resident of Azkaban. It is not common knowledge yet, so I will ask you both to keep that information to yourselves."

Ginny could contain herself no longer. "We need to help Harry, Headmaster!"

Albus smiled at the young redhead as his eyes regained their previous twinkle. "The best thing that you both can do to help right now is to stay here with me. The proper authorities have already been contacted, and they are mobilizing as we speak. Harry is truly remarkable, thinking so clearly whilst fighting for his life."

The youngest Weasley felt a swell of pride at that endorsement, but Samantha let out a horrified gasp. "Fighting for his life? What are we going to do?!"

Ginny smiled and squeezed the taller girl's shoulder reassuringly. "Just trust him, Sam. He's Harry Potter, after all, and Harry Potter isn't capable of losing!"

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Harry Potter certainly _was_ capable of losing.

He wasn't very good at it yet, since it had only officially happened one time in his entire career thus far, but in the end every fight boiled down to circumstance and luck.

He had been severely exhausted, both physically and magically, when Dr. Lucas Winters had fought him in the hallway of his hospital prison, but circumstances didn't matter. The fact remained that he had barely escaped with his life. He had bet it all on misdirection, and hoped that his incredibly depleted magical reserves would be beyond his opponent's ability to detect. The gambit had paid off, but he had still lost the fight. His enemy had gone free.

That loss still shook him, even as unfair as the fight had been. Life was not about fair and unfair, only about victors and victims. That was all that mattered on the battlefield.

And now, as he crashed through the mercifully weak exterior wall that shielded the Three Broomsticks from the elements, he realized that he was about to put another tally mark on his list of losses. He hit the hard-packed dirt and tumbled to a stop, coughing raggedly as he struggled to stand quickly.

_I... am going to lose. _The thought should've brought some emotion with it, but he couldn't muster anything other than adrenaline and a deep, cold and tightly-wound fury.

Draco, completely encased in stone that took the shape of a large, lumbering golem, followed closely behind his battered body. Harry quickly banished the foolish patrons who had stayed to watch the fight, tossing them to the relative safety of the storage room.

It cost him dearly, as another massive stone fist crashed into him. He felt his jaw shatter as his neck whipped back almost hard enough to break. It didn't break, thankfully, but he surely had sustained at least one concussion from this fight, along with his shattered jaw and several fractured or broken ribs. His elbows and knees were scraped raw from the constant tumbling he'd been doing to protect his core. His back was in terrible pain, he had probably been pierced by several long shards of broken glass and wood in his most recent flight. Blood was dripping from a cut over his right eye, partially obscuring his vision.

He could ignore all the pain, if only for a short while. What he couldn't ignore were all the fools surrounding him.

There were just too many innocents around. They were standing and watching the fight patiently like cows waiting to be slaughtered, and for the life of him he couldn't understand why they weren't running in terror right now. They were in the way, and they just didn't understand how much they were helping Malfoy simply by being there.

Draco was masterful in his tactics, never letting up for a moment. If he wasn't attacking Harry, he was endangering the crowd. Malfoy never failed to capitalize on the distractions provided by their audience to damage Harry further.

The Boy who Lived hadn't even had a chance to remove his limiters yet.

Harry had sacrificed the initiative to send Ginny and Samantha out of harm's way and conjure patronuses to Sirius and Albus, and he had never regained his footing. Draco had not allowed him a single moment to regroup, or a single moment to level the playing field. He was ruthless and brutal, completely unlike the naïve schoolboy he had put away so recently.

With a searing magical backlash that almost certainly burned several annoyingly passive bystanders, the Boy who Lived forced the ground under the scion of Malfoy to push up violently, launching his opponent skyward. Harry finally reached for the clasps of his limiters just in time to notice the rapidly growing shadows of the now-dissociated stones that had made up Draco's golem as they hurled towards him. He felt the world brighten around him as his limiters fell, but the stones were coming fast...

_Too fast-_

* * *

Draco landed lightly on his feet next to the pile of rubble that had crushed the boy whom, less than one year ago, had killed the Dark Lord Voldemort in a duel. Was _this_ what he had been terrified of before his world had been reshaped?

He cackled softly, relishing the adrenaline that spiked through his system. He had beaten Harry Potter! Now he just had to make sure the boy would never oppose him or his master again...

Reaching down to the mass of stones now piled on the street, he prepared to crush Harry Potter into a sticky paste. Several members of the crowd gasped, but no one drew their wands or made any attempt to stop him.

Weaklings.

_Well done, Draco. Leave him there, make a calling card and return to me immediately._ His master's voice rang out inside his head, and his ingrained compulsion forced him to withdraw his hand from the stones at once. With a long-suffering sigh, Malfoy sent his reply. _You want the pleasure for yourself, do you? As you command, Master._

Torn between the thrill of his recent victory and bitter disappointment that he could not finish off his enemy, Draco lifted the stones off of the Boy who Lived so he didn't suffocate. "Next time, Potter, I'll start with your blood traitor girlfriend."

Smirking cruelly at all the terrified wizards and witches surrounding him, he picked the most terrified-looking one and pointed at him. "You there, what's your name?"

The wizard blanched as Draco's finger was leveled at him, and he began to shake uncontrollably. Malfoy sighed and forced his way into the man's mind. He had no occlumency shield at all. Pathetic.

"Right. Malcolm. I almost hate to do this to your lovely wife, especially so soon after your marriage, but someone has to die. Looks like today just isn't your day..." With a savage grin, Malfoy sent a translucent white beam at the man, who didn't even attempt to get out of the way.

The man disassociated with an explosion that sounded like an impossibly loud belch, smattering the surrounding crowd with a dark, sticky film.

Mere moments later, Draco disapparated with a muted snap.

Only then did the crowd erupt in panic.

* * *

Ginny didn't know why she'd been so adamant about visiting Harry in the hospital. He'd been hurt badly; she knew that much from the look on the headmaster's face. Ron and Hermione said they'd let her go alone, and she'd gone without really thinking it through.

But seeing him there on that bed, seeing him so frail and damaged... It twisted something inside of her that was too painful to bear. She couldn't look at his comatose form another second.

So she ran. She barreled past Sirius Black and straight back up to the designated floo area, and then she ran all the way back to her dorm. She shut the curtains, locked them and threw silencing charms at them, and then she screamed. She screamed and sobbed and cried out until her voice was gone. She cried until her eyes were raw.

And then she lay there, staring blankly at her scarlet curtains and trying desperately to think of something other than Harry Potter and failing spectacularly. That twisting thing inside of her would not be satisfied until it had torn her apart...

The redheaded Gryffindor didn't know how much time had passed, but when her stomach gurgled she realized that she wasn't leaving the dormitory for at least another day. She'd have to make do with the junk food she bought at Hogsmeade.

Rolling over with a muted groan, she fumbled about before finally grabbing her bag and hoisting it up onto the bed with her. She dumped the contents unceremoniously onto the sheets and began sorting through them. A small black box caught her eye. _I didn't buy this..._ she thought curiously as she turned the box over in her hand. It looked like a jewelry box. When she opened it she let out a gasp.

It was a simple silver ring. A _ring_.

Ginny picked it up with shaking fingers, examining it. There was an intricately etched snowflake on it. What could that mean? Harry must've done this; he always found ways to surprise her, even when she was wallowing in self-doubt.

Even thinking about his name caused her chest to tighten. _Oh, Harry..._ She thought as she gingerly slipped the ring onto her third finger, finding it to be a perfect fit. _It's beautiful._

_Why thank you, Ms. Weasley. I made it myself._ A voice that was very distinctly _not_ Harry Potter's rang out inside her head. She felt a bolt of terror spike through her as her eyes grew wide. _I apologize, but this next part will hurt rather significantly..._

Ginny felt the silencing charm settle around her as the ring burned red-hot and began constricting. Her mute scream took the breath out of her.

* * *

Sirius Black felt his demons on days like this.

Harry Potter had been defeated three days ago, in broad daylight and in full view of several dozen witnesses who were all _just standing there_ as his godson got the life beaten out of him. Not a single one raised a wand to help, nor did they bother trying to get out of Harry's way so he could fight without worrying about their worthless lives. It took a considerable amount of restraint not to choke the life out of each and every one of those cowards as he interviewed them...

It was completely illogical. Harry had been in an exceptionally hard fight, against an opponent who was very clearly trying to kill him. His godson had put Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, after all, and the boy could certainly nurse a grudge. Malfoy was almost certainly involved with Dr. Lucas Winters, if the etched crystal ball left near the ruins of Azkaban was any indication, which meant that Harry was a priority target for them. But after crushing the Boy who Lived with stones and knocking him unconscious, he pulled the stones off of him and withdrew. Well, not before making a gruesome mess of a seemingly random bystander named Malcolm Merryweather.

Auror Tonks was masquerading as Harry Potter at Hogwarts, to reassure people that stories of his defeat were grossly exaggerated. Nobody would know just how close to death Harry had come that day. She was also pulling close protection for Ginny Weasley, who had been upgraded to a class 4 target after being publicly threatened by Draco Malfoy during the fight.

Ginny had visited Harry's battered, unconscious form at the base hospital, but left in tears after a few short minutes. She hadn't returned. Sirius could empathize with that. His godson was always so strong... it was almost unthinkable that he could be beaten this badly. He'd broken over a dozen bones, he was bleeding internally in several places, his right lung had collapsed, his skull had been cracked along with the left side of his jaw, his left eye socket had been shattered, and he'd also suffered fractures along his arm, wrist, leg, three ribs and an ankle. Most of his body was still covered with ugly purplish bruises and freshly-scabbed lacerations. A few shards of glass had come perilously close to his spine. A few millimeters to the right, and the Boy who Lived may have never walked again.

Every single doctor who had seen him remarked that he shouldn't be alive. Harry Potter should've died in Hogsmeade last Saturday. His body should have quit in the emergency room before, during or after his surgeries, or during his recovery. There was simply no medical explanation for why his godson was still breathing, except that Harry Potter was, quite simply, more resilient than any three other wizards who'd ever lived. His heart simply refused to stop beating for such a petty thing as his entire body being broken savagely.

The thought brought a swell of pride and pain in near equal measures. Sirius hadn't left Harry's side since Sunday, when he'd finally finished interviewing the many witnesses who had stood there and watched as his godson was beaten nearly to death. The Auror in Charge of Executive Protection had been eating hospital food, sleeping next to Harry on a small cot and borrowing Harry's bedpan when he needed to relieve himself. He refused to leave the room for any reason at all.

His godson still hadn't woken up, and the first thing he wanted Harry to see was his face. He wanted to tell James' son that he was still alive, that he was loved, that he could stop putting himself in harm's way... that he had done enough already.

But mostly, Sirius wanted to look into the boy's emerald eyes, then hug him and never let him go. Harry looked so weak on that hospital bed, and it stirred something black and ugly inside his chest to think about what had happened to him...

The first order of business was the destruction of every last pair of limiters in inventory. It had been a concession to the Board of Governors in exchange for allowing 'an incredibly dangerous person' to attend their beloved school, but Sirius was beyond caring now. Damn those old men to hell for having a part in his godson's injuries; he'd _Imperius_ the lot of them if that's what it took.

After that, he'd figure out a way to get Draco Malfoy alone before someone else could catch him, so he could snatch the life out of that little bastard with his bare hands. Moody had a special trunk for people like Malfoy, and the blonde was a prime candidate for the 7th lock treatment.

And then it was on to the young Dr. Winters. Sirius didn't know what he'd do when he finally got his hands on the bastard responsible for so much of his godson's pain, but he vowed that it would be creative and synonymous with 'human rights violations'.

It was only a matter of time until Harry woke up. And when he did, only one thing was certain: people were going to _burn_.

* * *

No excuses, it's been ages since my last update. Not to say that I've been slacking. Since my last update, I've definitely written over 250 pages of size 12 Times New Roman. Most of it is for an original work that I started during National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo for short, and I'm very excited about the way the story is turning out. Best of all, it's not a fanfic; if life is kind then I'll be wrapping up the editing in a few months and nervously looking for a publisher that's not going to laugh me out of the building. I'm not delusional enough to think that I can do well enough at this to make a living of it, but with a lot of luck I might just turn into a legitimate –meaning destitute and obscure– writer. Well, that's the general idea, anyway. I'll keep you guys posted! (: !!

We're down to the last few chapters, so I hope that motivates me to focus on finishing this story right. No matter what happens, I'm not going to stop writing fanfiction. It's a cherished creative outlet for me, and I wouldn't trade it for the world. So what if it doesn't make me any money? Writing original stuff probably won't make me any money, either, but I'm still going to do it. Why? Because I like writing, and some of you apparently like reading my stuff. That's good enough for me.

I'll let you all know what my next projects are when this story is wrapping up. I still have a few Potter projects sleeping in the Owlery, but I may very well be branching out into other titles and genres as well. I'm hoping it will refine my style a bit further, so look forward to it!

I hope you enjoyed this update, and I hope the next couple of chapters are smoother for me to write. Until next time.

Oh, and please review. Seriously, I'll cry if you don't take a minute to review something that I spent so many hours agonizing over. You don't want to make me cry, do you?

...): That's a text-based representation of me, and yes, I'm crying. Isn't it sad? Think about those little period-tears falling sideways before you click out of this story. Please review!


	19. Playing Human

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XIX: Playing Human

_**THE BOY WHO CANNOT DIE?**_

_Harry Potter, who was recently acquitted of all charges in the Julie Peverell case, is no stranger to this humble paper. He has repeatedly shocked us with his frequent and quiet accomplishments, and we should all be used to his blatant disregard for the word 'impossible' by now. We all know him as the wizard who defeated Voldemort last summer, but our recent series of articles has unearthed a massive amount of people whose lives have been changed personally by this young man. We have published verifiable, first-hand accounts of this enigmatic and heroic youth collapsing entire mansions in on themselves, locating and rescuing kidnapped victims in a matter of minutes, stunning a half-dozen fully grown wizards in the blink of an eye and taking on the most dangerous and deadly magical beasts and beings with a casual grace that has left us breathless. Each story grew more unbelievable than the last, and more than once this reporter caught himself wondering just what it would actually take to stop a wizard as powerful as Mr. Potter._

_Last Saturday afternoon, the Wizarding World seemed to have found that answer. Several dozen eyewitnesses in the Wizarding village of Hogsmeade confirmed that Harry Potter was defeated. The general consensus, after watching our hero be crushed by a number of boulders each as large as a full-grown wizard, was that he died at the scene along with an unidentified wizard who was murdered directly afterward in a grotesque manner. The rocks were removed immediately, but the broken and bloody body of the Boy who Lived had no visible signs of life when checked by the arriving Aurors. This reporter was not alone in mourning the inevitable, and the Wizarding World prepared itself for the worst._

_Two days later, Harry Potter was confirmed by multiple sources as attending classes at Hogwarts once more. He was not limping; he had no casts or slings, no bruises, no signs of surgery and no diminished capacity for magic or theory, if his classmates are to be believed. His only significant change was a slightly more cheerful disposition, as absurd as it sounds. There was not a single scratch on him, no sign of any injury at all. He'll resume flying as a Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team later this week as well, as soon as the full-time medi-witch at Hogwarts has given him a clean bill of health._

_The total elapsed time between Mr. Potter's defeat in Hogsmeade and his first class Monday morning was a mere 41 hours. This reporter broke his ankle in three places whilst running from a jinxed suit of armor during his Hogwarts years, and it took the better part of two whole weeks before he was cleared to walk without support. But Harry Potter went from 'dead on arrival' to 'right as rain' in two days flat? Every single healer and medi-witch that this reporter has spoken to says that a recovery like that is impossible. Not improbable, not unlikely. __Absolutely, 100-per-cent medically and magically impossible. We are reminded once again that Harry Potter simply doesn't do 'impossible'._

_Mr. Potter has been unavailable for comment on this miraculous recovery, but this reporter no longer wonders what it will take to stop him. This reporter wonders instead if Harry Potter is immortal._

_It's quite impossible, of course, but what should that matter to the Boy who Lived?_

_Dennis McDougall, special contributor to the Daily Prophet._

* * *

Draco Malfoy threw the paper into the fireplace with a muted curse. He paced as his frustrations voiced themselves. "I defeated the savior of the wizarding world, something that Voldemort himself couldn't even do when the boy was too young to wipe his own arse, and they didn't even have the decency to put my name in the article! All they talked about was Potter and how wonderful it was that he didn't die from the beating I just gave him! I admit it's impressive that he's already back on his feet, but how the hell am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the public if my name never appears in print?" he seethed as he ran a hand through his blonde locks.

Lucas Winters smirked as he leaned back in his chair. "Harry himself isn't at Hogwarts, that's a given. Ms. Weasley has informed me that an Auror named Nymphadora Tonks is masquerading as the Boy who Lived and pulling it off with impeccable style. I'm quite impressed, actually, because she's also assigned to close protection for Ms. Weasley. It's convenient, isn't it? But there's no possible way that Harry's recovery is complete yet. I've monitored his recuperation before, remember. I was watching the fight through your eyes, after all, and he was on the brink of death when you withdrew your hand. They simply can't let Harry Potter appear to be mortal. It's all in keeping up appearances, so sit down and relax for now. You've done well, Draco, and the people who witnessed that fight are spreading word of the terror even as we speak. Your name will soon be spoken in hushed whispers. They will know what you've done, and they will fear you for what you have yet to do."

"You do have a compulsory bond over me, you know," Draco smirked as he sat beside his master. "You don't need to stroke my ego; I'll still be forced to obey without question, smiling all the while if it makes you happy. Why not beat me, or punish me for no reason at all? It's what Voldemort would have done; what any dark wizard would have done."

Dr. Winters waved the insinuation away with a casual flick of his wrist, rolling his eyes. Draco insisted on referring to him as some sort of 'dark lord', as if he were simply the next Voldemort stepping up to have a go at the wizarding world. How petty. "I don't care what those third-rate magicians 'would have done'. Does this look like a dark wizard's lair? It is comfortable; you have every amenity that I provide for myself. I don't have a dungeon, I don't care for thrones. I want nothing to do with your so-called 'dark wizards'. Their only goals were to sow chaos and anarchy. How would they reign over a world that has fallen apart? I want this world whole and intact. They were fools, and they're dead because of it.

And besides, they would have beaten you to establish fear and control; dominance, in short. I have no need of such trivialities thanks to the ring I gave you. I want you to be proud, unwavering and confident in your abilities, not broken and timid and constantly hesitating with worry about upsetting your master. I plunged you into the fire for a reason, and I wrought my masterwork inside your mind. You are my tool now, Draco, and only a fool would damage his own tools. Instead I have tempered and sharpened you, and you will serve me for as long as you live. You will be remembered for as long as history is read."

Draco nodded his head with an indulgent smile, leaning forward in his chair. "Before I wore your ring, that single sentence was all you promised me; that I would be remembered. So I trusted you, and you have proven yourself infinitely worthy of that trust. You have taught me amazing things, even gifted me with the knowledge of your family's research. With nothing more than that, I could create an army that would sweep the entire world. You have given me everything I have longed for and more. Even if the compulsory bond was lifted, I would serve you unquestioningly. You have been good to me, Master."

Dr. Winters smiled over at his disciple, noticing the curious look on his face. He was biting his tongue as if his thoughts were not as readily heard as his voice. "Ask, Draco. You need no permission."

Without even bothering to look ashamed, Draco quickly responded, "My apologies, Master. I just wanted to know... why you told me to return to you during that fight. Why didn't you let me kill Potter? He's not going to let this lie."

After a moment's thought, the brown-haired wizard nodded. "You probably won't understand my reason, but I'll indulge you this once; Harry Potter exists on a level above you, just as I do. It would've been a tragedy to allow him to die by your hand, even if it were by my command. You were just there to put my ring into Ms. Weasley's bag, which you succeeded in. When I saw Ms. Cameron with them... well, let's just say my hand was forced.

"You couldn't possibly comprehend my pain, Draco, because you've never been peerless." His brown eyes grew unfocused as he gathered his myriad thoughts. "From an early age, my father conducted numerous magical experiments on his patients. The very best techniques refined from those experiments were then used on his own children, even as they were forming inside the womb. I was born into this world as the first of a new breed; a better wizard."

Dr. Winters held up a hand and clenched it tightly, staring at the muscles and veins that made up his fist. "It is unfortunate that none of my father's other children survived the womb as I did. I was born without peer, and my father died unable to replicate his success." He stretched out his hand, as if fascinated by something just under the surface. "You were mediocre in your past life, so there were those around you whom you could look in the eyes, or even look up to. I hope you understand what a gift that is, because I... I can only look down. It is an exceedingly lonely place."

"During the Sengoku Period of Japan, which was in the 16th century, Takeda Shingen and Uesugi Kenshin were legendary rivals who -among other places- fought several battles at Kawanakajima, in modern-day Nagano. These muggles were referred to as 'samurai'. They were warriors and diplomats, gentlemen and barbarians in equal parts. One winter during their heated battles, Kenshin's troops fell short on rice and salt. Rather than capitalizing on his enemy's weakness, Shingen sent an envoy to Kenshin with enough rice and salt to last the winter. He provided his mortal enemy with the means to continue fighting him throughout the winter. It's interesting, isn't it?"

He met his disciple's eyes patiently as he explained, "Do you understand why he did that, Draco? Because facing an equal in battle was more important to him than being victorious. It was more important than his life. For nothing more than a few hundred barrels of rice and salt, Takeda Shingen was not alone in this world for an entire against Uesugi Kenshin was the only thing that made him feel alive. It was the only thing worth waking up for. And so it is with me."

Draco stared back at his master with a strange confusion quirking at his lips. "You don't realize how mad that sounds, do you. You say you're just lonely, that's why you're doing all this?"

With a nod, Dr. Winters continued. "It's an oversimplification, but it serves my purpose well enough. To clarify; I don't care about the rest of the world, Draco. Everyone else... they're just peasants. Just cattle, waiting to be slaughtered. I get no thrill from killing them, except in the artistry involved. There's no challenge at all. They're worthless, mediocre; content to live their lives day to day and eke out their small-minded pleasures. They're barely even human."

The hair on Draco's arm stood on end as the brown-haired doctor gathered his magic around him. He'd seen such displays from his master on several occasions, but it never failed to amaze him. The man had an astounding magical capacity, the likes of which the young Malfoy had never seen before. As far as Draco knew, the man didn't even bother with minor details like needing a wand. He'd never used one in view of his disciple, but somehow the magic just happened anyway.

"But Harry..." Dr. Winters continued, pulling steadily on his magic as his excitement grew, "Harry Potter has been touched by greatness. He is truly a monster. He might be the only wizard I've ever found that can challenge me, test me. _He is a wizard that can meet my eyes._"

His magic surged as he scowled, pushing against the walls as it strained to expand. The fireplace flickered restlessly. "But when I found him, it was all too easy to capture him and bleed him to nothing; he was weak. He was far weaker than I remembered... I agonized over it for weeks until I reached an epiphany: _They tamed him._ Hogwarts, Ms. Weasley, even Sirius Black. They tamed the greatest monster the world has ever known, collared him and wrapped him in human skin. He will never satisfy me in such a state. So I will cut away his shackles."

Draco shook his head at his master's musings. He was hoping to make Harry Potter more powerful? It made no sense at all, but he'd humor him and listen. It was the least he could do.

"I will sever his budding humanity, and then I'll let him run away and lick his wounds. When he's fully healed I will send for him. And when he comes... we shall meet in a battle of equals. And that, my disciple... the anticipation of that day is already setting my nerves on fire." Dr Winters grinned widely as his magic pulsed. He was happy, inordinately so. He couldn't even be bothered to contain his power when he got caught up thinking about Harry Potter.

Draco found the man's obsession with the Boy who Lived almost obscene. But who was he to question his master's will? The bond ensured that he loved his master more than his own life, but he allowed Draco to keep enough of his free will to think his own thoughts. The blonde-haired boy would gladly suffer through a few torturous minutes of dramatic flair in thanks.

"I will have my challenge, Draco." Dr. Winters continued, still staring vacantly out into space. He licked his lips and his eyes grew intense. "I will face my equal, my legendary rival, and I will savor every single moment of it because until that moment I have not yet lived, I have not yet felt fear. Only Harry Potter can excite me like this. Only Harry Potter can make me come alive. Killing him will be the only real challenge that this life will ever hold for me, and it will be the saddest thing I'll ever do. I already despair over it."

Draco sighed into his hand, shaking his head at his master's melodramatic words to hide the very real edge of fear creeping up his spine. Dr. Winters looked so incredibly bored all the time that seeing him actually focus on something was raising his hackles. If he were not already his master's tool, he would have been terrified of the intensity in his gaze.

"So be patient, my disciple. You should savor such an anticipatory thrill; you will not feel it often from now on. Soon I will meet Harry Potter on the field of battle, and my entire life will be lived inside that confrontation. And when the day is done, I will mourn. Because I will have killed the only wizard I consider my equal, and after that fleeting thrill of victory fades... I will be alone once again." Dr. Winters stood up and began pacing, unable to sit still any longer while contemplating his pain. His disciple, as indispensable as he was, would never understand the despair that lurked underneath his skin. Draco would never understand an agony so keen that it could cut every inch of color out of life. His was a joyless existence, a life in black and white, and now his salvation was very nearly at hand.

"After my misery has dulled to a slow ache, together we will scorch the world in search of another wizard touched by greatness. And if, by chance, we find someone else who can look me in the eyes, I will meet them in battle as well. For nothing more than the fact that for that fleeting moment, I will not be alone in this world. I care for nothing else except that instant, that touching of souls." It was the truth, pure and undiluted. What did the lives of peasants matter to him? They were insignificant; none of them could fill the void inside his chest; the very real knowledge that something was missing from his life.

"This ambition of mine is selfish, and I embrace it gladly. If it can quell this loneliness inside of me, even for an instant, then I will gladly watch the world burn. And you, my dear Draco, will be holding the torch."

* * *

The first thing Harry Potter saw when he regained consciousness was the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Ward at base. He'd spent many nights here, and it was almost comforting to see the pale blue ceiling and the harsh fluorescent lights. A sound from his right side drew his attention, and his blurry eyes shifted to observe. A blurry black shape was moving up and down rhythmically.

Harry took a silent inventory of his body. He was aching all over, and the left side of his face was incredibly tender, but everything appeared to be functioning within normal parameters.

After blinking several dozen times to clear his vision, he realized that the blur in the doorway was Sirius Black, doing pull-ups by his fingertips on the doorframe. His godfather was holding his breath.

"Sir, you should not hold your breath when performing anaerobic exercises. It can spike your blood pressure and lead to ruptured blood vessels and unconsciousness," Harry informed him seriously.

At the sound of his godson's monotone, Sirius dropped nimbly to his feet and rushed over to his bedside. "Harry!" he exclaimed, wrapping the black-haired Gryffindor in a tight hug. "You're awake! You're alive!"

"Affirmative," Harry agreed reasonably.

"Quiet, you. It's been six days, you know... I've been worried sick!" Sirius hugged him more tightly as he sighed in relief. "I'm just glad that you're healing so well; you were barely alive when we found you. There's no medical explanation for it."

The Auror let him go and said, "Harry, you have no idea how close you came to dying. Seeing you like that... You've done enough. You know that, right? All this time, I'd been training you to beat Voldemort, and you did. You won. And now you're free to do whatever you want. You don't have to keep fighting; you never have to pick up a wand again if you don't want to. You can live however you want. You've earned that right a thousand times over. So please... don't do this to me anymore."

Harry's throat constricted tightly as he looked up at his godfather, "I'm very glad you care, Sir. It means more than you know. I can't think of anything I'd rather do, but I promise I'll think hard about it until I know for sure. Will that be enough?"

Sirius nodded at him, finally cracking a smile. "Of course, Harry."

"Will I be able to go back to Hogwarts soon?" the Gryffindor asked.

"Just as soon as you're given a clean bill of health. Tonks has been filling in for you, so don't expect a huge party." Sirius grinned and hugged him again.

"I've never seen the point of parties, Sir," Harry informed him. "I've never had one before."

A wispy frown flitted across Sirius' face, but it was quickly replaced by an eager grin. "We'll fix that. This year, I'll throw you the most enormous birthday party the Wizarding World has ever seen. 17 years worth of parties crammed into a single night. Just you wait, Harry! I'll invite the whole of London, I'll invite the PM... Hell, I'll invite the Queen! We'll celebrate in style!"

Harry smiled up at his godfather in amusement. It was a relief to see him so animated again.

* * *

The Boy who Lived returned to Hogwarts with high expectations. His memories of the last week were hazy at best, but he knew that he dreamt of Ginny. Nothing but Ginny, the entire time. It kept him alive, it made him wake up.

He had to tell her.

His search didn't last long. She was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, in her usual spot. Auror Tonks had been relieved of duty twenty minutes ago, with Harry taking over her responsibilities as close protection for the only daughter of the Minister of Magic. Feeling an uncomfortable twist in his abdomen, he neared the youngest Weasley's seat and said, "Good morning, Ginny."

"Oh, good morning Harry. I didn't see you there," she said without looking up. She sounded preoccupied, but there were no reading materials spread out around her. With a small smile, he skimmed her surface thoughts; she was getting irritated about her period coming up, she was angry with Professor Snape for giving her two whole feet of remedial work on truth potions and she was consciously reminding herself that the Harry behind her was a fake, so she didn't break down and cry in his (or her) arms.

"I believe it was you who told me that I should never be sorry for crying," the black-haired Gryffindor recalled with a widening smile.

Ginny froze for just a moment, and then she launched herself at Harry and clutched at him tightly. "You're back!" she hissed excitedly. He could tell that she was trying very hard not to jump up and down. He felt an electric thrill shooting up his spine as he hugged her; he had missed this feeling immensely.

"Can we speak in the hallway?" Harry asked, meeting her eyes eagerly. He didn't want to waste another minute on trivialities; he felt compelled to tell her everything that his newly-discovered emotions had been screaming.

They left the Great Hall quietly, and it was still early enough in the morning that an adjacent hallway was entirely unoccupied. "_Muffliato,_" Harry muttered, casting the privacy charm around them. He didn't want any eavesdroppers listening in on this conversation, it felt strangely personal and private. That was a very new feeling for the Boy who Lived, who was used to a lack of privacy that most of his classmates would find appalling.

Much of what he was feeling was entirely new, and that's what made him so eager to share with his best mate. "Listen, Ginny," he said, grabbing her by the shoulders, "I've been unconscious for a week, you know, and the entire time I was dreaming of you. I woke up thinking about you, and you haven't left my mind for a moment since then. I'm not sure you ever will."

Ginny's eyes grew wide as the words slipped out. Her jaw hung open and she looked both confused and incredibly shocked. Harry didn't know what that meant, but he wouldn't let it deter him. "Look, I know I'm young and I know I'm inexperienced with this, but when I look at you I feel this... 'power' is the closest word to it. There's this intense energy that I've never felt before, and it arcs into me every time I touch you. It's overwhelming. I'm still not certain what love is, but I know without a doubt that it applies to you. I love you."

_So it's finally come to this, has it? How the mighty have fallen... _A whisper filled her head. _Say exactly what I tell you, Ms. Weasley. I daresay this will be the most important thing you ever do._ Ginny's eyes, which had been glued to Harry's during his babbling confession, flickered upward and lost focus momentarily. It was _him_.

Her whole body tensed up and her head twisted slightly as a stream of thoughts entered her, and then her eyes fixed on Harry again. Her shoulders relaxed under his hands.

Harry's heart was pounding hard; he could hear it beating as his breathing grew heavier. Both were common signs of nervousness. He didn't know much about this sort of thing, but he felt like something big was about to happen and his body was reacting accordingly.

"I am ceding from your social network, Harry." Ginny said evenly. Her master's voice gave her the words to say, and she recited them dutifully.

Whatever response the Boy who Lived had been expecting, it certainly wasn't this. He frowned in confusion as her voice echoed in the cavernous hallway. What had just happened? Had he just broken some cardinal rule of relational expression?

Ginny continued, ostensibly unaware of Harry's redlining heart rate, "You're a dangerous and unstable weapon, Harry, no matter how good you've gotten at playing a student like the rest of us. I can't possibly love somebody like that. It was fun while it lasted, but I don't think we should be around each other anymore. In fact, it'd be better if you left Hogwarts entirely. What if you had an accidental discharge here?"

Harry felt his magic building rapidly alongside his panic, but he violently repressed them. He had to think quickly. This wasn't how it was supposed to go... His newfound emotions were welling up, bursting inside of him painfully. They were overflowing, spilling over; he couldn't begin to describe it. He struggled to maintain an even tone and a calm demeanor. He couldn't react rashly now, he had to reason with her. There had to be a way to negotiate.

He nodded along with her words, which usually facilitated a sympathetic connection in the other party that allowed for leniency in their demands. "You're right, of course. I am unsuited to living a normal life. But I thought... with you, that is, that I could try. You felt something for me, Ginny, I know you did. Did that mean nothing?" He gripped her shoulders tightly, silently begging her to see the situation as he did.

"Of course it meant something, Harry," she explained patiently, her eyes as calm and untroubled as he'd ever seen them, "but I never planned on anything long-term. There can't be anything long-term with someone like you. You were a brilliant distraction for a while, you really were, but it's time to wake up. You said you love me, but you're not capable of love. You said it yourself, didn't you? I'm a normal person, and you... you're not even human. You're a _monster_, Harry."

His heart twisted angrily inside his chest as his eyes burned with unshed tears. He was breathing harder now, and he couldn't keep his magic from boiling to the surface. It was building incredibly fast, faster than it'd ever gone before. The ambient temperature in the hallway rose noticeably as beads of sweat accumulated on his forehead. He couldn't understand how she could be so collected when her words were lancing through him like bullets. He couldn't possibly ignore this type of pain; it seethed and roiled and pitched in his stomach, it grew rapidly and rose to constrict his throat. His pulse hammered at his temples as he tried desperately to contain himself.

Ginny's voice rang out over his internal thrashings like a bell, "Harry, you need to go. You're hurting me, and you're going to kill us all if you let go of your magic here. I could never love a monster like you. Please go."

With a jolt, Harry released her shoulders as if her touch had burned him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Ginny... I didn't mean to hurt you... I would never..." He stepped away quickly, not stopping until he was pressed against the opposite wall.

His eyes never left her, and the hurt in them was visible even from a distance. His voice had never sounded so weak, and Ginny ached to comfort him. But her master had more for her to say to the Boy who Lived, and his voice soothed her anxiety instantly. "Don't apologize for hurting people, Harry," she explained patiently. "It's what you were born to do, after all. It's all you're capable of."

Harry looked into her eyes and read her surface thoughts. Pity. The only emotion she was feeling at that moment was pity.

His face contorted with pain, he couldn't stand it for another second. He recoiled from her, turned and ran. He was around the corner and gaining speed, but even as he nearly tripped over his own feet he knew he couldn't run fast enough... His hand dove into his pocket and he pulled out his shrunken broom, enlarging it and kicking off as hard as he could. The wind screamed around him as he tore off down the hallway and spiraled up into the stairway. His eyes searched frantically for a window, any exit at all.

Her words echoed in his mind. _I could never love a monster like you..._

He had to escape... He had to retreat and regroup. But more than anything, he needed to get as much distance as possible between him and the source of those indescribably painful emotions. He had to get away...

He banked sharply and ducked his head, passing easily out of an archway. As soon as he was clear of the castle, he gripped the broom tightly and tore off at top speed. The air-repelling charm engaged, causing the wind to silence instantly. Hogwarts disappeared in a blink, and the countryside blurred as he pushed his broom harder and harder, until he broke the sound barrier with a massive clap.

Ginny watched him disappear around the corner in a flash, and her heart broke for him. She got the sudden feeling that she'd just done something unforgivable. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. What had she just been saying? Her master took away her uncertainties with a whisper, and her face relaxed into a smile as she felt his happiness resonating through her bond. She could almost feel him grin, even though he was hundreds of miles away.

_You have done well, Ms. Weasley. I am most pleased._ Her smile widened at his praise, and her steps were light and happy as she returned to the Great Hall to finish her breakfast.

The sound of a distant sonic boom echoed through the corridors.

* * *

Harry was laying flat on his back in his training area after once again emitting an enormous magical storm. The effort hadn't even exhausted him this time; now that his reserves had been drawn upon he could sense that they had increased a substantial amount, at least 10 percent. And for a wizard whose magical capacity was already as high as Harry's, that was a very significant increase.

This was both confusing and alarming: He had been assured that his magical capacity had stabilized by now, that it would reach a certain level and increase no further, but this directly contradicted every assurance he had been given. There was no logical explanation for it. He would usually feel elated at such a beneficial surprise, but he couldn't draw his attention away from Ginny for even two consecutive thoughts.

He was in shock over her recent change of heart. What had happened? She wasn't lying; he saw that much in her eyes before she turned away. Her affection for him was gone. She had no feelings for him beyond pity. And now... now he was left with this enormous level of emotion. He was hurt, angry, shocked, frustrated, and he felt a rising wave of panic. He had to find a way to reverse this, to make things like they were even a week ago...

No. She had informed him of her decision, and he would respect that. She was free to associate with whomever she chose, and she had chosen to remove him from that group. Even as the logical centers of his brain repeated this information, the emotional centers were welling up with despair. She was gone. She'd broken her promise and abandoned him. He was just no good... her words echoed in his head. He was just a weapon, and he'd dulled himself on this child's game. He was just playing at being human like the rest of them. He was a fool to think that he could live this sort of life. A fool to hope that he had a choice in the matter.

His vision blurred as his tears spilled over; he couldn't sit around drowning in his emotions, he had to get up and do something or he'd go mad. So he portkeyed back to base and went straight to Sirius' office. He knew what he had to do, and he knew it had to happen now.

Harry knocked at the door, letting them know that someone was coming, and then entered the room. Tonks was sitting across from Sirius; he hadn't even finished debriefing her from her mission posing as Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Sirius asked as his godson stood rigidly at attention.

Harry tried desperately to get a handle on his emotions; they were shameful and undisciplined... Auror Tonks was there, and although he didn't know her well, Harry felt incredibly self-conscious as he replied, "I am... injured, Sir."

Sirius shot out of the desk and grabbed him, searching for a wound. "Where are you hurt? I don't see anything."

"I don't know, Sir..." The Boy who Lived said quietly. He pressed a hand to his chest, curling his fingers and digging his nails into the flesh, "it's around here somewhere..."

Sirius' eyes softened. Without another word, he wrapped his godson in a fierce hug. Tonks quietly disappeared, and he was glad for it; he would have to finish debriefing her after this. Harry came first, every single time. Sirius shushed the boy as he began trembling.

Harry broke down completely. He lost every tenuous grip on his emotions as he clutched tightly at his godfather. His wailing cry sounded completely alien; he'd never made noise like this before, but now it seemed as natural as breathing. There was no better sound to express the aching grief he felt.

He buried his head in Sirius' shoulder and let out a muffled scream as his tears flowed freely. His entire body was tense and shaking, his hands clenched convulsively. He was no stranger to pain, he'd probably felt more of it than most in his life, but this was an entirely new sensation. There was no resisting this; no bandage could stem its flow. There wasn't a potion in the world that could take away the pain that resonated from his newfound emotions. They swirled inside his chest, and they ached with a fire that he'd never felt before and would gladly never feel again.

_Never feel again..._ The thought struck him like a hammer: He'd never needed emotions before now, why was he so open to feeling them if they could hurt him like this? He had to remember how he'd been before, when life was a mission and pain was easy to ignore.

He'd had quite enough of being a noncom, anyway.

Gripping his godfather by the shoulders, Harry pushed himself upright and steadied himself on his shaky legs. He closed his eyes and inhaled, long and slow, through his nostrils, and then inch by inch he straightened. His heels slid together, his legs tensed, his back hardened, his hips and chest jutted out. His shoulders squared, his jaw set, and then his eyes snapped open.

_Freedom..._

* * *

Sirius watched curiously as Harry straightened up, and he caught the blaze of concentration that sparked from his eyes as they opened. He blinked, and by the time his eyes opened again the fire was gone. He looked just like he did before he had received his mission to attend Hogwarts. Just like that, as fast as tapping off a light, his godson reverted.

Something dark roiled inside of his stomach at the sight. "Harry?" he asked tenuously, searching his eyes. _Not now... not after all this..._

His godson simply stared out at nothing, just like he always had. Just like Sirius had taught him, so many years ago.

And suddenly his hands were gripping his godson, shaking him and squeezing him forcefully. "Dammit Harry, no! I know it hurts, I know it's unbearable, but don't go back to the way you were before! Don't run away like this! Stand up and face it, Harry!"

Harry just stood there rigidly at attention, not even acknowledging the fact that his godfather was clutching at him so fiercely. _He's been making such good progress. What happened?! _Changing angles abruptly, Sirius released the Boy who Lived and sat on the edge of his desk. "Very well. At ease."

Harry snapped to position, still staring out over his Godfather's head. "What happened," Sirius asked pointedly. His godson would know what he meant by that.

The green-eyed boy's response was delivered in his signature monotone. "I was instructed by Miss Weasley to leave her presence and Hogwarts. I am disinclined to argue with her, as she gave very rational arguments for my immediate withdrawal. Please allow Auror Tonks to continue in my place."

"What did she say, Harry?" Sirius was already dreading the answer.

"She simply pointed out that I am best equipped for direct action missions. I have not been trained in social protocols, I do not blend into the local populace inconspicuously, and I am becoming too unstable to allow around such large groups of people. My magical discharges are happening with greater frequency, and it is an unnecessary risk to subject the students of Hogwarts to." His godson's words were terse and sharp, but it didn't answer his question.

"Her words, Harry. What did she say to you." The Auror in Charge of Executive Protection felt his blood pressure rising. If that little girl had told his godson to leave... If she'd broken his heart...

"I told her that I loved her, Sir." Harry said quietly.

That raised Sirius's eyebrows, certainly, but it still didn't answer his question at all. So he just continued to stare at his godson levelly until he continued.

"She replied by stating that she was ceding from my social network. She said I was a dangerous and unstable weapon, no matter how good I've gotten at playing a student like the rest of us. She said I would kill them all if I let go of my magic inside the school. She said she didn't think we should be around each other anymore, and that it would be better still if I left Hogwarts entirely." Harry's face remained remarkably expressionless as he recounted his utter rejection. _How can he say such things so calmly? _his godfather wondered as he stared perplexedly at the stoic boy in front of him.

"She said she never planned on anything long-term, that there couldn't be anything long-term with someone like me. She said I was a brilliant distraction. She said I wasn't capable of love. She said I wasn't even human. She told me that I was... that I _am_ a monster. She said she could never love a monster like me." Finished with his summary, Harry stood silently and awaited further instruction. His face betrayed no sentiment at all.

Sirius winced. Those were incredibly harsh words to hear, especially if they were from a boy's first love. He knew that his godson was lacking in several departments, but Ginny's words felt more like a personal insult. It was his fault that Harry was so mechanical, after all.

He felt the full weight of his guilt pressing in on him, and his shoulders slumped noticeably. His actions had been in the best interests of the wizarding world... but the wizarding world was just an intangible phrase. You couldn't touch the wizarding world, hug it, watch it grow. His godson, however, was his family. Family was worth fighting for, worth dying for. And he'd forsaken him. He'd sacrificed the son to avenge the father. He'd been consumed with vengeance, consumed with the 'greater good'. What good could be greater than protecting the only family he had left?

_I'm so sorry James... I failed you. I promised you that I'd look after your son; I promised that he would be my blood and my breath. How could I have allowed this to happen?_

"If I may, Sir..." Harry interjected, breaking his thoughts. "You are not responsible for her actions. I maintained eye contact throughout the conversation; she was not under the Imperius Curse, nor was she lying to me. This is her decision, and I will respect it."

"What do you want to do, then?" Sirius asked hesitantly.

Harry hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again without uttering a word.

"Go ahead and speak freely, Harry," the auror said encouragingly. "Whatever it is, you've earned it. Would you like an extended vacation to clear your head and get some perspective on this? Majorca is brilliant this time of year."

"I want to return to active duty." Harry's response was instantaneous.

Sirius faltered. That was the worst possible thing he could've asked for. "But that would mean not going back to Hogwarts."

Harry didn't look surprised or put off by the idea. "I am aware of that, Sir. It is my intention to not return to Hogwarts. In my opinion, the mission in Hogwarts is detrimental to my operational readiness. I am a weapon, and after considering my knowledge, skills and abilities I find that I am unsuitable for the mission. It is dangerous for me to be there, now that my accidental discharges are becoming more frequent; my senses also fray noticeably after prolonged exposure to these noncoms. I do not mean to question my orders, but I don't understand what I could possibly learn at Hogwarts that would be beneficial towards my future missions."

The last of the House of Black exhaled in defeat. Future missions? Was that what he thought this was about? "It's not about missions, Harry. I just want you to learn to breathe. How to smile, how to laugh... How to _live_. But it's your decision. If you don't want to go anymore, just say the word."

"I've already said it, Sir." Harry said evenly. His voice was as hard as it had ever been. "If there is room on the roster then I respectfully request that you return me to active duty immediately."

Sirius rounded the table and sat at his desk slowly. He'd lost. Things were going so well, but Harry had completely reverted. He was back to being a weapon, back to being nothing more than a tool. Sirius felt tears welling up in angry pinpricks, and he didn't have the strength to fight them anymore.

Harry averted his eyes as his godfather wept quietly; it was unbecoming to stare at a man during a moment of weakness. It was also unwise to attempt to comfort an officer. Since protocol did not allow for a course of action, he took no action and remained at ease. His mind was busy working over his potential schedules, which were all blissfully normal and devoid of distractions. He had wasted far too much time already on this foolishness, this 'playing human', and he'd have to make up a lot of ground.

He had finally pushed away the emotions that had been plaguing him since he'd started attending Hogwarts. He'd finally returned to his calling, his life. He wondered if he should feel excited about it, but shook the thought off with practiced ease. He had no need for excitement. It elevated his pulse and respiration unnecessarily. He was well-trained, and in full control of his faculties for the first time in what seemed like forever. He was calculating, with nothing frivolous in his actions.

His Hogwarts career seemed a lifetime ago already. He was a warfighter, and he was finally going back to where he belonged. He was finally going home.

* * *

Okay guys, two chapters and an epilogue to go. They should come rather quickly, as I've already outlined and started on both chapter 20 and the epilogue. I had to; a plot hole had to be filled before I could release this chapter. I've also been hard at work on a ton of other things, some of which will require your input. That's right, readers, your input is required!

To be honest with you, I've actually been putting off work on this story, simply because I don't want it to end. My first stories were far less popular than this one has been, and I've grown to love the number of hits I get each chapter. I get the feeling that my next stories won't be near as popular as this one, no matter how hard I work on them. It's terrible, I know, but can you really blame me for craving acknowledgment? That's the main drive people have for posting on this website, if you think about it.

So to help garner more support for my next projects, I'm going to ask you all which project I should work on next. This is with the hopes that you will all read my next project, and the next one, and so on until someday I might wake up and suddenly be a writer worth publishing.

A lot has happened since my last update, not the least of which has been the death of my dream of Military service. With that goal completely unreachable, I've decided to focus on a dream that might be just within jumping range. In other words, I want to become a real author. For that, I'm going to need a LOT of help. So here are some plot ideas I've been toying with. Please review this chapter thoroughly, as there won't be many more of them, and also tell me which of the following plots you would be interested in reading next, my dear and oh-so-appreciated readers!

1: Harry Potter, fourteen-year-old orphan and recent expellee of Stonewall ___'s Delinquent Reformation Program, is being kicked out of his adoptive parent's home. As he packs his bag, he finds a curious letter addressed to him from several years past. An admissions letter from Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Having nowhere else to go and no other living relatives, he sets out to find this mysterious school and make it his home.

There is a slight problem, however. When Voldemort gave him the cursed scar that fateful Hallow's Eve, he took something of the boy's in return: his magic. Harry James Potter—the Boy who Lived—is a muggle.

A story about heart-pounding, gut-wrenching action and the overwhelming strength of the human spirit. With a generous three-finger pinch of romance sprinkled in for good measure.

2: The complete version of We Sort Too Soon, from birth to death. Based on my short story, but told in full and in person. No journal entries in this one, I promise!

Go read We Sort Too Soon for the synopsis! It's short!

3. I've never done anything this shameless, but somehow I've gotten it in my head that a Neon Genesis Evangelion self-insert would be a great idea. So if you'd like to see how my fourteen-year-old American self would fare as a pilot in the Japanese world of Evangelion... But be warned, there will be lots of angst. Drama, action, forbidden love and a conspicuous lack of Mary Sue-ness. Here's a hint, of sorts: I was an angsty child with a keen understanding of his own shortcomings and a real knack for finding the most romantically incompatible and disinterested woman possible and falling madly in love with her. I have the journal scribbles to prove it!

4: A story about what would've happened if Naruto was put on a team with Hinata and Ino, led by Kurenai. A story about a teacher who will actually teach him, and teammates who will become the closest thing to family that Naruto Uzumaki will ever find.

These stories will all be longer than Learning to Breathe, and the chapters will come much faster since I am now going to be devoting a very good portion of my life to my craft, rather that simply using it as an emotional release. I plan on writing all of these eventually, but I'd like to start with the one that more readers will prefer. As a fifth option, I can write the first chapter of each of them so you can all see the tones of the stories and judge from there.

In any case, I'll be attempting to make a career out of this writing stuff. Wish me luck, if you would be so kind, and stay tuned!


	20. The Last Resort

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XX: The Last Resort.

Ginny Weasley was having a very odd day.

This in itself was not uncommon, as she was a witch, and the youngest in a family of wizards and witches. She and 'odd' had become firm friends at an early age. The odd part was something she couldn't quite grasp. She couldn't remember certain things about her day, no matter how hard she tried. Every time she thought she'd hit on it her mind would suddenly slip, leaving her feeling rather weightless. She'd been staring into her shepherd's pie for the last ten minutes with little to show for it, except that floating sensation.

Rather than being intrigued at this oddity, she was very rapidly approaching a panic. It reminded her too much of her first year at Hogwarts, when she'd been possessed by the diary of Tom Riddle. She wouldn't just dismiss this, she wouldn't let it go; she couldn't allow herself to be used like that again. Was this Tom's next trick, then? What had she done during those times she couldn't remember? And where the _bleeding hell_ was Harry Potter?

"Excuse me, students. May I please have your attention," Albus Dumbledore's voice was soft and grave, but it still managed to resonate clearly across the Great Hall. Within seconds, the din and chatter died as heads rotated towards the head table.

"Due to circumstances outside of our control, Harry Potter has withdrawn from Hogwarts. He would like me to thank each of you for making his time here special. He will remember all of you fondly. That is all." With a tired sigh, Dumbledore sank into his chair again and pulled a large treacle tart towards him.

Instantly the buzzing resumed, and promptly doubled. No doubt a hundred different rumors were now circulating about the Houses.

"That can't be right... he didn't even tell us he was leaving. What d'you think happened?" Ron wondered morosely.

Hermione shook her head, "We can't know for certain, but perhaps there's trouble brewing? I hope it's nothing like Voldemort this time. I'll bet he just had too many demands on his time. He can't be everywhere at once, right?"

"This is Harry Potter, 'Mione," Ron explained, "he had demands on his time when he came to Hogwarts, nothing's changed. It has nothing to do with trouble brewing, so don't fret about that, okay? He's probably just sick of doing homework."

"Don't you try to blame this on homework!" Hermione shot back, scandalized. "I keep telling you, if you'd just do it regularly instead of always saving it for the last minute, you wouldn't have any problem keeping up with it!"

Ginny didn't hear a word they said as they bickered back and forth, she was still staring at her shepherd's pie. Harry was gone? He'd left the school for good? Something had happened–something big–and she was missing something critical. What was going on?

Her older brother snapped her out of her reverie. "Ginny? What on earth are you doing?"

Ginny's eyes went wide. She hadn't realized she'd been so obvious. "Nothing, Ron. Just eating."

"You haven't touched your food, and we've been trying to get your attention for a while now. Are you okay?" Ron's voice was tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, really. I just spaced out a bit."

"We were asking you if you had any idea why Harry would leave Hogwarts." Hermione said helpfully.

Ginny shrugged. Her body felt weightless again, and her train of thought floated away blissfully.

Ron gave an exasperated huff. "Ginny! You'd know better than we would, I mean, it's not like either of _us_ were on snogging terms with the bloke. We just expected a bit of warning before he disappeared. So can you tell us what happened?"

The redhead just continued staring blankly at her pie. What had they just been talking about? She got the feeling it'd been important, but she couldn't think about it. If she thought about it, then surely...

Ron was about to berate his younger sister for ignoring him, her elder brother whom she should deeply respect, when quite suddenly her eyes went out of focus. He stared curiously at her, waving his hand in front of her face and getting no reaction whatsoever. He glanced at Hermione for help.

"Ginny? You're acting awfully suspicious, you know," Hermione said gently. "It's not like we're accusing you of anything, but you're being quite calm about this whole thing, and we expected you to be... I don't know, a little more emotional about it."

Just as suddenly as they'd lost focus, Ginny's eyes snapped onto Hermione with a scowl. "How do you want me to act, then? Do you want me to cry? To swear that I'll never love again, or some tragic rubbish like that? Look, he made his decision; you both need to respect it and let it go. We'll miss him, of course, Merlin knows I'll miss him, but his destiny is bigger than this," She gestured around the Great Hall with a careless swipe of her hand. "He's getting on with his life, and we should be getting on with ours."

Without touching her pie at all, Ginny stood up and walked stonily out of the Great Hall. Hermione glared at her boyfriend rather meaningfully, but Ron shrugged it off and kept eating. "She's a big girl, 'Mione. Let her have some space."

* * *

Nymphadora Tonks was not exactly the most feminine of Aurors. She preferred to wear thick, clunky boots that did nothing to help her abysmal balance, and she'd rather be caught completely starkers than in a dress. She'd worked hard to gain respect–however grudgingly–from her male co-workers, of which there were many; she always bragged about not having a motherly bone in her body, usually while she was throwing hexes at one of her teammates in dueling practice.

It was logical, therefore, that she'd been quite shocked when she felt a very firm twinge in her chest at seeing Harry Potter come into her cousin's office. He'd looked so distraught, so completely lost, that she'd had a strangest urge to hug him.

She'd often thought about the young prodigy, but it was always amazement at how incredibly skilled he'd been, ever since she'd first met him. He seemed to have a plan for everything, and even the most difficult magic came so easily to him that she'd been halfway to cursing him for it on more than one occasion. She'd been jealous of his power, maddened by his natural magical ability and thoroughly impressed by his incredible courage in the face of staggering odds.

But never once, since the day she'd first heard of the Boy who Lived, had she thought him a boy. This was the invincible Harry Potter, after all, who defeated the darkest wizard since Grindelwald twice, who defended himself with lethal force at the tender age of 8, who'd beaten the course record on the Simulator at the Auror Academy at 13, who'd been awarded no less than eighty-six certificates of commendation in his short career...

Underneath all those accolades he was still a 16-year-old boy. He was still just a child. And that realization shook her quite spectacularly. Despite her best efforts, she'd finally felt a twinge of motherliness. And it was for the absolute _least_ childlike boy she'd ever met.

It was that realization that had brought her to her cousin's office once more. Not only was she concerned about Sirius' recent bedside vigil for Harry, she now felt the most dismaying need to ensure that the Boy who Lived was properly cared for. If her co-workers ever heard about this, she'd never hear the end of it...

"I'm taking good care of him, Nymphadora. He is my godson, after all." Sirius looked almost indignant when she'd asked how the Boy who Lived was getting on.

"You haven't called me that in years. That wasn't my question, either." She rubbed her spiky, violently pink hair in quick, frustrated movements. Her cheeks were tinged with embarrassment. "I just want to know how he's doing. You know, is he eating enough? Is he feeling any better than he was yesterday when he got back from Hogwarts? He looked dreadful..." She pointedly refused to make eye contact with Sirius, whose eyes had taken on a rather mischievous glint.

"Why Tonks, I didn't know you cared," Sirius said in a manner that clearly stated the opposite.

"I don't," she insisted quickly. She knew it was a mistake to ask her cousin. He just couldn't be trusted to take something seriously.

"Looks like Tonks has a bit of a soft spot for my little prongslet!" he said in a sing-song voice, his grin widening.

"It's not like that, okay? I just..." she exhaled sharply, finding a scuff on the toe of her leather boot incredibly interesting. "I just have this mad urge to give that boy a hug..."

Sirius nodded knowingly, all traces of humor gone from his face. "He does do that, doesn't he? I don't think you've ever spoken more than a few casual sentences in a row with him, but once you find out what he's been through... It's sort of impossible to know him and not want to hug him half to death. Even you, the perennially pitiless. It's my fault, you know," he said, regarding her critically.

Tonks's confusion must've shown on her face, because her cousin didn't wait for a response.

"I made a decision fifteen years ago: I would avenge James and Lily, whatever the cost. I would make Voldemort pay for destroying my best friend. He was the brother I wish I would've been born with. And he made me Harry's godfather. But all I could see when I looked at Harry was that damnable prophecy. This was the Boy who Lived, the one who was going to be Voldemort's downfall. So I trained him, I did everything I could to make sure he'd survive a second brush with that snake-faced bastard. All for the Wizarding World. All for the 'greater good'," Sirius spat the last words out as if they were a curse.

"And this is what happened. This is what I did to Harry Potter. I trained him to fight, and to win. And that's all he knew. He'd never kissed a girl, he'd never had a birthday party, he'd never done something for no reason at all. Sirius Black raised his best friend's son, and never once let him live. I never once allowed Harry Potter to just breathe."

Sirius wasn't frowning, he wasn't sad at all, he just looked hollow. Like he'd just spent a year in Azkaban. "That's what Hogwarts was about. It was about finally letting my godson learn how to breathe. And he can't do it. Instead of going back to school, he's going to be put back on active duty as soon as our medi-wizard clears him. He thinks Hogwarts dulled his edge, and he's back to thinking of himself as nothing more than some tool of war. I'll bet James would be _thrilled_."

"Sirius..." Tonks frowned at her cousin. He seemed so tortured, how had she not noticed this before? "You can't blame yourself. You did what you had to. You did what needed to be done. And Voldemort's gone. You made the right choice. Harry Potter is alive, and that's what counts. We can work on the little stuff bit by bit, but he needed to survive. You helped him survive, cousin. I'm sure James would agree with me when I say that the alternative would have been to let Harry die." That mad urge to hug Harry Potter had doubled during their short conversation.

The Auror in Charge of Executive Protection smiled softly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Logically, I know you're right. Logically, I know that raising Harry the way James would've raised him may have been the death of him, when Voldemort came back to power. He needed to win that fight to ensure his own survival."

His mirthless smile vanished abruptly. "But I dare you, Tonks. Live with this guilt for even one day, and then come tell me that again. How could I possibly have made the right decision, if it left such bitter guilt?" He stared out at her, searching her face.

Tonks met his gaze in silence, reaching out and squeezing his hand reassuringly; it hadn't been a question.

* * *

Harry swung the large black kettlebell out and upward in rhythm with the metronome. It was set at 80 beats per minute, for 40 swings. Without stopping to regain his breath, he switched to a single-arm curl and kept his tempo up for another full minute, then transferred the kettlebell to his other arm. His entire body was on fire with the strain of the exercise, his eyes stung with sweat and his breath came in ragged, labored gasps. It hurt in a way he hadn't felt in months. He'd been able to complete this circuit easily before he'd started attending school, and focusing on that thought spurred him on.

After finishing the circuit he set the kettlebell down lightly on the rubber mat, walking a lap around the gym to regain his wind. Unbidden, a sense of disappointment rose up inside of him. He'd gotten soft and weak out there. He'd let his senses dull, let his body waste away. It would take precious time to regain his edge, and he needed it by tomorrow's physical with the new medi-wizard on the base, Theophilus Pestle. If he couldn't scrape by with a clean bill of health... if Mr. Pestle relegated him to light duties such as 'access point control', a glorified gate guard, for even one more week... Harry didn't think he could stand it.

He needed to get out there and start doing his job again. Even as dull as his senses were, he could feel the urgency in the air. That sudden heightened pressure around him that smelled like ozone, it was his body reacting to some subconscious stimuli that his conscious mind hadn't yet picked up on. He'd learned long ago to trust his instincts, and though they were far from razor-sharp they were starting to scream. A storm was coming, something big; he needed to be in top form when it hit.

"Harry?" a voice cut through his thoughts. "All right?"

The Boy who Lived stopped walking and turned towards Samantha Cameron, who was holding out a towel and a water bottle. She'd been moved to the base after Draco Malfoy spotted her in Hogsmeade, for her protection. He'd noticed that she possessed a keen sense of where he would be at any given time, and she tended to find him at all hours of the day when even his godfather resorted to paging him over the intercoms. For a civilian, it was very impressive. He accepted the towel and bottle with a curt nod and wiped his face. "Thank you, Ms. Cameron."

"It's nothing, Harry. I just..." Samantha bit her lip, a nonverbal cue that told him she was nervous. She needn't have bothered, the worry was practically radiating from her. "I don't understand why you're pushing yourself so hard. I mean, none of the other people here are doing such... intense things. It would be bad if you hurt yourself right now, wouldn't it?"

The black-haired boy shook his head. "My body has sufficient kinesthetic resilience. I require this level of intensity in my workouts to better train my nervous system to cope with massive traumatic stress, such as gunshots and cutting curses. It is not a problem."

He uncapped the water bottle and drained it dry. "Thank you again, Ms. Cameron. Be sure to check in with your security detail at 0900, or we'll have to lock the base down again."

Samantha nodded distractedly, and then watched him jog back to those strange, misshapen weights he used in the morning. She had no idea what he was trying to prove, she wasn't even sure there was anything left on earth that Harry Potter had to prove, but something drastic had changed. He'd been acting very odd since he left Hogwarts; he didn't laugh or smile anymore. He didn't talk to her or sit with her... or anyone else, for that matter. He didn't do anything recreational at all. He just ate and worked out and went about his business and then powered down for the night on that rock-hard bed of his. It was like someone had killed him and replaced him with this mechanical shell. He was even purposefully training his body to better deal with getting shot or cut. How terrible.

Her heart broke at seeing him like this. He was the Savior of the Wizarding World; everyone loved him. Everyone wanted to be near him, or just _be_ him. And yet he led this incredibly stoic, lonely life... It just wasn't natural.

* * *

"I haven't been able to get a straight answer out of her, either. I don't know what's wrong with her, but nothing's _wrong_ with her. Did that make any sense at all?" Neville asked with a frustrated sigh.

Hermione frowned. They'd been trying all week to figure out what had happened to Ginny. "I think I understand what you mean. She really does seem perfectly normal. I haven't seen her crying, and she doesn't even look sad. Maybe that's how she deals with this sort of thing, just shoving it under a rug and forgetting about it, but there's no way she could do that so easily. She's not sociopathic. Something's terribly wrong with her, I just can't figure out what it is. It's like she's... too normal."

Ron nodded grimly. "I've never seen her act like this before. It's like she's forgotten about Harry entirely. She was really broken up about that MacMillan bloke who broke her heart, but now she's getting on with her life like it didn't bother her at all. And Harry... how could he just leave us like that? He disappeared, Ginny forgot that she loved him... it's so weird. Like we're the only ones who feel anything at all over it. We're not overreacting or anything, are we? I mean, we're the healthy ones and they're the crazies, right?"

Neville and Hermione both nodded their assent. Hermione spoke up, "I'm not sure what's going on in your sister's head, but it isn't healthy. If anything, we should be taking her to St. Mungo's right now. I mean, they were getting pretty close. He left so suddenly, it couldn't have been mutually agreeable. Who would just shrug and get on with life after something like that? No, we're right to pursue this. We just need to take it a step further. I think we should see Dumbledore about this."

Ron blanched, shaking his head vigorously. He'd only been to the Headmaster's study a few times in his career as a student, mostly to be reprimanded for some prank or another that he'd done, and he had no desire to go back so soon. "Look, I'm all for figuring out what's wrong with my sister's head, but bothering Dumbledore about something petty like this? I think he's a bit too busy for this sort of thing."

Hermione leveled a glare at her boyfriend. "She's the Minister of Magic's only daughter, and whether or not wants to acknowledge it, she's connected to Harry Potter. And she's my friend. I'm not going to let this lie, Ron, and I'm not going to hush it up. I'll tell anyone who'll listen until we get some bloody answers!"

Her mind made up, she grabbed Ron's hand and stomped off towards the Headmaster's study. Someone would listen to her. She'd _make_ them listen.

* * *

As Harry finished his morning run, at the ridiculously early hour of 4 o'clock, Samantha was waiting for him. She knew that this was her only chance of speaking to him without anyone listening in, and she was starting to realize how incredibly alone Harry was all the time. Surrounded by people most of the time, but effortlessly avoiding all but the barest of contacts with them. A curt nod here, a crisp salute there. How did he survive like this? What had happened to the uptight, but impossibly cute boy she'd met at Hogwarts?

"Harry, a word please?" she asked with an encouraging smile.

"Of course, Ms. Cameron. How can I be of assistance?" he replied evenly.

She twined her fingers together nervously, trying hard to word this in a polite and positive way. "It's like this, you see... I know you've been under a lot of stress lately, and I know that you ... in Hogsmeade, it was a rough time for you, but really, you don't have to push yourself this hard. You were so much more relaxed at Hogwarts, you know. I just wonder... can't you try to take it a bit easier on yourself? Who are you trying to catch up to, anyway? You don't talk to your teammates, you don't talk to _me_... I mean, can I help at all? Seeing you so alone... I just want to help, okay?"

Grimacing slightly, she appended, "You're so different from how you were at Hogwarts. So hard and detached. It's like you don't even see people anymore, like there isn't anyone worth your attention. It's like you... died, or something. It seems so... sad."

Harry pondered her words for a short while, and then replied, "You have a unique perspective, Ms. Cameron, in that you only knew me as I was at Hogwarts, and only in the last few weeks of my mission there. I was... dull, at Hogwarts. The noncom you knew me as... I was not myself. What you see me as now is what I have been since I was old enough to remember. This is what I've always done. I train, and I minimize my distractions. It is not sad, it simply is. Thank you for your concern, Ms. Cameron, but it is unnecessary. Do not concern yourself."

Without waiting for a response, he nodded and turned, disappearing around the corner in a matter of seconds. Samantha stared mutely after him, a sad frown on her face.

As Harry shut himself in his room to recover from his second workout of the day, he thought about Ms. Cameron's words. He was ... alone? Certainly, he had no constant companion anymore, not since... Ms. Weasley. But Ms. Cameron's words insinuated something deeper. Something far more pervasive than just the effect of a single person's repulsion.

What she was suggesting, he found, was that he separated himself from everyone consciously. That he felt he was superior to the other soldiers, and to her. Certainly, he was well trained. In terms of an individual's ability to accomplish a mission, he was positive that nobody was more capable than he was. But he didn't feel that being better than the other soldiers at fighting a war made him somehow superior, did he?

Whenever he thought about it, he could feel this hollow ache in his chest. An ache he usually filled, however briefly, by going on missions. It closed the gaping cavity up for a short while when he performed his duty to the best of his ability. Every time he was with Ginny, it numbed the ache better than even the missions had. And even though the ache had always returned just as soon as he was without her presence, it had gotten less and less painful with each passing day he'd spent next to her. Now that she was gone... it was more jagged and painful than ever.

He'd always wondered what the ache was caused by, and Samantha's words had resonated so deeply with him that he knew he had found his answer–She'd asked who he was trying to catch up to, and in actuality, he was searching for someone that could catch up to _him._ He had been aching for someone like him, someone who understood him. An equal. A partner. And no matter how many missions he went on, he never found one.

But Ginny... Ginny could have been that someone. He had felt the ache growing smaller the longer he stayed beside her... would it have gone away completely some day? Could he have woken up one day feeling no pain at all, and never thought about that ache again? She was not his equal in a physical sense, being much smaller, weaker and less skilled, but there had been some deep connection between them that marked them as equals in a different way. A way he had not yet discovered a name for.

He _was_ lonely, Harry realized with a start. He was completely alone in the world right now, without a single person who could soothe this ache in his chest. He was without an equal.

And now that he knew the ache _could_ be quelled, after the catalyst had disappeared, he felt it even more fiercely. So the ache had a name now: it was called 'loneliness.'

It was why he was so eager to get back to full active duty, he reasoned as he laid down on his bed for a post-workout recovery nap: so that this pain would leave him, even if only for a moment. Because for that fleeting moment, he wouldn't be alone in this world.

* * *

"I don't quite understand what I'm doing here, Professor," Ginny Weasley finally said when she could no longer stand the silence. She'd been asked to come to Dumbledore's study, but after asking her to sit and offering her a lemon drop, he'd simply sat there and stared at her, his fingers steepled in front of his face. After at least a minute, she'd grown quite uncomfortable with the Headmaster's scrutiny.

Dumbledore nodded, expecting this sort of reaction. "Your friends are deeply concerned about you, Ginevra. They've asked me to ascertain the nature of this shift in your attitude, and I admit I am curious myself. So, Miss Weasley, is there anything you'd like to tell me? Anything at all?" His eyes never left hers as he spoke, but his soft smile reassured her.

Ginny thought for a moment, suddenly very confused. What could she tell Dumbledore? She couldn't think of anything, except that she missed Harry... No sooner had she thought his name than her thoughts drifted away. What had she wanted to tell him? It must not have been important. "No, Headmaster," she said quietly. "I'm just fine. Please tell my friends not to worry; I'm as well as I've ever been."

He didn't answer; he just maintained his silent eye contact and nodded encouragingly.

Taking in a breath, she figured she'd have to say something, at least. "Well, I've been working out a lot more this year; it's helped my flying quite a bit. I got moved back to Seeker, but I'm not sure why. I'm probably not fast enough at reading my teammate's plays; they've been playing together for years, so I've had to work really hard to keep up with them. Other than that, everything's great. I wish I knew what they were so worried about..."

She ran a hand through her hair nervously. "That's all I can think of, I'm sorry..."

With a wide smile, Dumbledore finally said, "That will do nicely. Thank you very much for speaking with me; I'll assure them that you're in perfect health." Inclining his head to dismiss her, he watched her leave with growing concern.

As soon as the door had closed behind her, he said, "You may come out now."

Ron, Hermione and Neville had been listening from the Headmaster's bedroom, and they poured into the study immediately. Hermione, her face lined with worry, asked, "Well?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his mouth a thin line. "I see what you mean. Her thoughts are entirely her own, but when they turned to Harry Potter, they immediately vanished. She cannot even remember that the reason she was moved back to Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team is because their previous Seeker, Harry Potter, has withdrawn from school. I could not sense any curse or potion within her, but her behavior is incredibly curious."

Hermione's face lit up in triumph. "So we were right!"

"You very well may be," Dumbledore agreed reasonably, "however, I would caution you against taking any action at this time. Whatever has happened to her, it is surely more than some casual affect. It must not be taken lightly. For the time being, I ask that you simply go on with your lives and pretend as if her behavior is perfectly normal."

The trio's faces betrayed their reluctance towards this course of action. Ron was vehement, "But Sir... It's _not_ normal. And if we don't tell her so..."

"Then you will not alert whoever has caused this. You must remember, children; we have no idea who or what we are dealing with. We must tread carefully. I will look into this, so I ask you to leave it with me and try your best to behave as you typically do."

The three shared heavy looks, but resigned themselves quickly. Ron spoke quietly, "If you think it will help Ginny, Sir, of course we'll do our best. Thank you, Headmaster."

After murmuring their thanks, the trio left in dampened spirits. If even Dumbledore didn't know what was wrong with her, then who on earth would?

* * *

Sirius Black was deep in thought. His godson was, as usual, the focus of his musings. He hated playing the 'what-if' game, since it never really changed anything, but he indulged himself as he sipped at a finger of cheap scotch that he kept in his cabinet. The alcohol helped him think about things he'd usually dismiss out of hand. Like what would've happened if he hadn't had free reign to ruin Harry Potter. What if Sirius had died that night in James's house, fighting against Voldemort? What if the Unspeakables hadn't accidentally stumbled across residue from the horcrux that Voldemort had created that night?

Or–and this was the scenario that always haunted him–what if Dumbledore hadn't discovered that Peter was the traitor? For all anyone else knew, Sirius himself was the secret keeper, nobody had any idea that Peter had been in on the _Fidelius_ charm. If they'd simply arrested Sirius first, if Peter hadn't been so easily discovered... if Dumbledore hadn't been such an accomplished _Legilimens_...

It could've just as easily been him rotting in Azkaban all these years, and Peter walking free. Dumbledore had readily admitted that if he'd gone to Azkaban, Harry would've been left with Lily's sister Petunia and her husband. Sirius had never met a more impressive example of why the Statute of Secrecy had been instated than the Dursleys. They hated anything that wasn't as suburban and mundane as they were. Sirius was sure that Harry would've been mistreated there, if not starved or outright abused. The very thought of leaving his godson in the care of those foul people for any length of time caused his heart to twist.

And what's worse, he wouldn't have received any training whatsoever at the Dursley's. He wouldn't have known a single thing that could've stopped Voldemort. He would have been crippled when he faced down Tom Riddle, because he'd lost out on over a decade of hard training. He probably would have died the day Voldemort came for him, if he didn't starve to death at Petunia's house first.

It could've been an even more tragic existence than his life already was, but at least he would've grown up around people. He was an incredibly likeable boy, he would've had friends. At least he would've grown up feeling something, even if it was sometimes painful. At least he would've been a human being, instead of this cold, stoic automaton.

He sighed into his hands, rubbing his face tiredly. Who was he kidding? Anything was better than being raised by the Dursleys. Scotch made him so melodramatic...

A knock on his door broke him out of that particularly depressing train of thought. "Come in," he answered automatically, draining his glass and grabbing another tumbler for his visitor. He hated drinking alone.

"I've come to a conclusion, Sirius." David Cameron stepped into his office. He saw Sirius's raised eyebrow and nodded, sitting as he poured them both a generous helping of the amber liquor. He drained it dry in a single swallow, and it worried Sirius deeply. This wasn't good news.

"My official conclusion, as the head of this investigation, is that Dr. Lucas Winters is a ghost. There is no trace of him, period. His father was a ghost, too, and we found him through a mistake, a typographical error that we detected before it could be erased. His son was there; his son knew what had gone wrong. He's not going to make the same mistake.

David let out a long, tired sigh. His eyebrows were permanently creased from his exertions over the past month. He'd been working incredibly long hours, always looking for the slip-up that would lead us to our quarry. He was the one who'd found the accounting error that had eventually led us to the late Dr. Winters, and it was only through arduous, mind-numbing tasks like checking dental records and tax information, city by city, region by region. He'd pored over reams of paper, mountains of it. Lists upon lists upon lists. Searching for the proverbial 'needle in a haystack' at night, touching every piece of straw individually and hoping that it would poke you. And we didn't even know if it was in this haystack, or another one.

And now David Cameron was telling him, in no uncertain terms, that there was no needle at all.

David continued his assessment. "Honestly, I don't think he's going to make any mistake at all. Matthias Winters was only a smart wizard with high aspirations, but his son... his son is special. He's an entirely different creature, a demon in human skin. He was the beginning of a new breed; we assumed that he would be sterile, unable to pass on such unique genetic material, remember?"

Sirius nodded grimly, his heart sinking faster by the moment. "But I don't get it. Nobody can disappear entirely. That's what you told me when I hired you the first time. You said there's always a mistake, always some bread crumb that will point the way." His protests were half-hearted, though. If David Cameron couldn't find someone, it had always meant they were dead.

Mr. Cameron shook his head, a thin smile on his face. "I'm glad you remembered my mantra. But the whole thing goes like this: 'Nobody can disappear entirely. No matter how clever criminals are, they're only human.' Humans make mistakes, Sirius. Dr. Winters hasn't made one in at least a decade, and it's my professional opinion that he never will."

He met Sirius's eyes with a level, intense stare. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I've already gone far beyond the normal limits of a criminal's conscious ability to conceal themselves. Literally, nobody can be so focused all of the time that they never make mistakes. People get tired, people get impatient and careless; people have hiccups in the neural circuitry of their brain that keep them from ever repeating precisely the same action."

Shaking his head in frustration and letting out a long, sharp sigh, he continued, "The idea of a human who can be 100 percent attentive to 100 percent of the details 100 percent of the time... It's an anomaly that doesn't happen anywhere in nature, ever. It's above the bell curve's 100th percentile. I can't even begin to judge his cognitive capacity, because there's simply no forensic test I've devised that he has not already passed with full marks. I don't think... I am sure, as sure as anyone will ever be; Lucas Winters is _not_ human."

Sirius's mouth compressed into a thin line, a scowl apparent on his face. David actually looked scared. And if David Cameron was scared of this wizard... "So what does this mean for Harry? He's the key, here," he reminded him.

David nodded gravely, expecting this question. "Get him ready to fight as soon as possible, and keep him ready. That's all I can think of. It's a waiting game, now; Dr. Winters is waiting for something. But honestly, I haven't the slightest idea what he's waiting for. A specific date, a certain sequence of events, the alignment of the cosmos... it could be anything. It could be any time between now and the next decade, or maybe even longer. All I know with any certainty... it will be a very hard day to be Harry Potter when that time finally comes."

* * *

Sirius washed down his last mouthful of grilled steak with a large gulp of water, thankful that his work load had been exceptionally light today. He'd set this Friday night aside as family dinner night, hoping that a bit of forced social interaction would help snap Harry out of his strange mechanical melancholy.

He'd decided to keep it small, since throwing his godson into a group setting could potentially backfire if something reminded him of whatever made him revert. So he'd kept the group small, just him and his cousin Tonks, and Samantha Cameron and Harry. He'd warned Samantha to tone down the groping, and so far she'd been acquiescing with remarkable grace.

He'd grilled up the marinated steak himself, and thought he'd done a very decent job of it, although the baked potatoes tasted incredibly bland, and didn't feel quite soft enough. Oh well, he couldn't be expected to be a chef with all the training he'd focused on that involved putting boot to face. Couldn't be good at everything, after all.

"So, Sirius, what's the latest on Harry's recovery profile?" Tonks, who had always been a faster eater, was pushing her plate away already. She grinned at him and snuck a glance at the Boy who Lived, checking him for new injuries.

Sirius crossed his knife and fork with a slight shake of his head, glad for an easily answered question. "I know I should be immune to surprises by now, but the Doc says he's got a week left in the original accelerated profile estimate, and he's already exceeded his final recovery benchmark. He's not supposed to be doing this well, even at full strength. It's like every time he gets hurt, he gets stronger. The Doc has no idea what to make of it, but says it's a good thing. Kid's pretty much amazing." He reached over and rubbed the top of Harry's head, grinning widely in remembrance of the praise that Doctor Pestle had heaped upon his star patient.

Harry nodded, continuing where his godfather left off. "My adjusted recovery profile is scheduled to be complete by next Friday, if my rate of recovery continues increasing at its current slope. My adjusted maximum capacity is now calculated to reach a peak of 208, a 16% increase from this time one year ago. It is unexpected, but very agreeable." Harry's monotone had taken on some slight coloration again. It was unnoticeable to most, but Sirius had spent far too much time around his godson not to notice when his pitch started varying.

Sirius didn't understand much of the math behind the base's standard calculations for

'maximum capacity', but he knew that some of the variables they used to determine 'maximum capacity' were lactic threshold, maximum O2 absorption per minute, and an aggregate strength-to-weight ratio based on 12 common exercises. It left _magical_ capacity out of the equation entirely and was weighted more towards endurance than brute strength, to encourage soldiers to look like fit, normal people instead of muscle-bound freaks who couldn't run marathons... or climb stairs, for that matter.

The head doctors found that having a single test that compiled all of a soldier's physical capabilities into a single combined score improved their motivation to increase their individual scores in all areas of the physical test. In other words, the all-around 'test of maximum capacity', with bonuses for higher scores, made all-around fitter soldiers.

Sirius knew his own score–evaluated a little over a month ago–to be 142, which was one of the top 5 best scores on base.

Tonks sighed heavily and muttered, "Damn, my maxcap's only 110..."

"That is very good, Auror Tonks. Academy students only need a score of 75 to graduate; you are well above the accepted standard," Harry replied, nodding supportively.

"Well thanks, Harry," Tonks replied, "looks like Doc Pestle will have no choice but to sign you up for full active duty again. You get your wish."

Sirius grimaced. He hated thinking about his godson going back to full duty again. It was so dangerous, and so many things had come so close to ending his life over the years... It was torture, knowing that he had to sign off on Dr. Pestle's physical. He had to give his consent to send his godson back to war. He already dreaded the day.

"I anticipate it greatly. I... feel very eager to get back to work," Harry said awkwardly, stumbling a bit over the last sentence. He looked uncomfortable, but determined.

Everyone's heads whipped around to stare at him. Harry Potter just talked about his feelings. "Why are you so eager, Harry?" Sirius asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

Harry set his fork down and concentrated silently for a long moment, and then said, "I mistook this eagerness as weakness, even as recently as last week. Feelings in general, I misunderstood them. I thought they were a limitation, but now... looking at my teammates, looking at the people I protect out there... I feel so much stronger now. I'm not just doing this because it's my job anymore. I'm doing this because I want to defend those people. I feel very protective of them. It is an incredibly empowering emotion; it motivates me to push myself harder. I... want to keep feeling this."

He kept his eyes downcast, not moving or saying anything further. Was he embarrassed?

"That's... great, prongslet. I'm really happy for you," Sirius said, emotion constricting his throat as he rubbed his Harry's head again. Hope had swelled up in him, filling his chest as he listened to his godson. It wasn't the answer he'd been looking for, which was 'I want to go back to Hogwarts, find a nice girlfriend to snog and never fight again', but this was an incredible step. Harry Potter had just talked about his feelings. Harry Potter had _feelings_, and he just _talked_ about them.

This was at least ten steps in the right direction; the direction that led to potential grandkids. Sirius felt like picking out names already, and Tonks was equally thrilled about this unexpected outburst.

Samantha just grinned from ear to ear, patting Harry's shoulder supportively. "Well said, Mr. Potter."

* * *

As Harry dodged another seemingly-endless barrage his Godfather's exceptionally accurate curses, he knew that he'd finally regained that elusive 'edge' he'd missed. His razor-sharp reflexes felt natural again, with no frayed edges and no twitches. Smooth, lean and fast, just as he had been before Hogwarts. His body felt like it was straining against his skin from the inside, from head to toe; he felt warm and compact and balanced and precisely at his peak.

It had taken nearly a month of grueling effort. It was glorious, and a thrill of achievement shot up his spine as he pushed himself to his feet. Without sending his mouth a conscious directive, he felt a small smile pulling at his lips.

_Perhaps smiling is not a trait one can unlearn,_ he reasoned, and for some reason, the thought was comforting. Despite the incredible pain that his emotions had caused him, there were several feelings that were immensely pleasing to him. He felt... satisfied. Yes, that was an adequate description.

He raised his wand to salute Sirius and call an end to their training session. "Sir, I'm ready. I feel... natural. I feel whole again."

Sirius smiled sadly at him, nodding. "I can tell. If anything, your magic is faster than ever. Honestly, I think that those accidental discharges weren't the result of your magic starting to go haywire; I think they must've been a growth spurt of sorts. You haven't had any since you got back, and they appear to have signaled some sort of increase in your magical core. I can only hope this means that you've stabilized for good, but who knows? Maybe you'll be the next Merlin, once you grow a decent beard." He sat down on a wide stump nearby and patted the space next to him.

The corner of Harry's mouth curled into a smirk as he sat next to his godfather. "I've heard that before, you know. I wonder if my name will be a common-usage euphemism someday, as well? For example; 'What in Harry's name is that?' or, 'Potter's baggy Y-fronts!' It could be the start of an entirely new era in Wizarding colloquialisms. I'm sure my father would be proud."

Sirius's thoughts stumbled over themselves for a moment as he reeled from the shock. Harry never, ever spoke of his parents. And as clumsy and awkward and not-particularly-humorous as it was, Harry had just told a _joke_. That was...

"Sir, are you all right?" Harry asked inquisitively.

That was _brilliant_. Sirius's throat tightened as he enveloped his godson in a fierce hug from the side. "I'm just peachy, prongslet. Everything's good. Really good. Brill." He suddenly felt so light that his shoulders shook with silent laughter. The weight of the guild that he'd been shouldering for so long had started to evaporate, and he'd forgotten what it was like to be so light and genuinely happy. It was euphoric; it almost felt like he was floating.

Even after all that Harry'd been through... maybe you couldn't forget how to breathe, after all. _Thank Potter for that!_ Hm... it did have a ring to it.

Harry brought his arm up to awkwardly pat his godfather's shoulder. He could feel him shaking silently with mirth, and his smile widened.

_

* * *

Wake up, Ginny. It's time._

Ginny's eyes flew open as she sat up in her bed, startled. Her master's voice reverberated in her head, and she suddenly understood what he meant. She shuddered with the excitement that she felt sympathetically through the bond. Quietly, she slipped into her trainers, walking over to her trunk. She pulled out a fist-sized paper-wrapped package tied with a thin piece of twine, and placed it neatly on her bed. She turned the tightly-wrapped sphere until the lettering was facing the hallway door, and then smoothed the sheets around it.

She quietly put on her sturdy fleece jacket, her mittens and cap, grabbed her wand and opened the window. A gust of cold air buffeted her, causing one of her dormmates to wake with a startled shriek.

Katie threw open her drapes and scowled at the redhead. "Close the damned window, Ginny! _Merlin!_"

Ginny just stared for a moment, smiled blissfully at the blonde and whipped her wand in a semicircle.

Katie watched with wide eyes as her dormmate flew out the window on a cloud of smoke. She raced to the window to see Ginny soar over the gates and disapparate in midair with a _crack_ that rang unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness.

* * *

"Dammit, Albus, I don't know how you can stay so calm at a time like this!" Arthur Weasley was pacing in front of the heart; his voice was nearly an octave higher than usual due to the sheer terror that had wrapped itself yet again around his heart. His path took him through a patch of morning sunlight that filtered through one of Hogwarts ubiquitous stained-glass windows, causing his balding head to flash in multicolored hues.

"And I don't know how you can sit there with a straight face and tell me that this is still the safest place for my daughter! That madness in her very first year with the 'you-know-what' in the 'you-know-where', now being kidnapped for ransom and then kidnapped _again_, within months of each other!"

"Please sit, Arthur," Dumbledore repeated placidly, "and she has not been kidnapped."

The Minister of Magic glared at Dumbledore and ran a hand over his balding head nervously. "So you say, but it's happened before on your watch."

"Of course you are right," Albus inclined his head, "but the wards have been modified for your daughter's protection. The wards would not have let her pass unless she truly wanted to leave. I made the modifications myself, and I assure you, they are without flaw. So I suggest we focus on finding your daughter first, and then we may ask her why she chose to leave the school grounds unattended."

Arthur sank heavily into the seat across from Dumbledore, his lips compressed into a tight line. "So that's the plan? Sit here and wait for my daughter to show up? That sounds about as effective as your 'round-the-clock Auror bodyguard' proved to be."

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly at the Minister. "Of course that's not the plan, my dear friend, and I hold Auror Tonks in the highest esteem. Your daughter will be located and brought back to us as quickly as possible, but the best thing we can do right now is stay calm and go over what we _do_ know."

Once the Minister had nodded glumly, Albus continued, "Auror Tonks locked Ms. Weasley's broom up each night, and none of the other occupants of her dormitory possessed a broom. One of them stated that she saw Ginny 'fly off on a cloud of smoke, with no broom at all.' I have never taught such advanced magic in any of my classes, nor would I expect any student at this school to be capable of such a thing. That is why no further security measures were taken for her dormitory. We must assume that she has been changed in some significant way, if she is able to perform such magic silently. What else do we know?"

"She left that package, of course." Arthur stabbed a finger towards the paper-wrapped sphere on the Headmaster's table, as if blaming it personally for the recent disappearance of his only daughter. "It says _'For Harry Potter'_, and it's got no magical signature at all. It's like one of those 'glow snobes' that muggles are so fond of. Useless."

"Although you are correct in stating that there is no magical signature inside of this package, my opinion is that the contents will be crucial to finding your daughter." Checking his strange watch and comparing the relative placement of Jupiter and Venus, he smiled faintly. "I'm going to meet with Sirius Black now; he will be able to give this package to its intended recipient. That will be good news, indeed."

Arthur let out a frustrated huff. "You're so damned optimistic, Albus. It doesn't even cross your mind that she could be dead already, or worse!"

"My friend, I believe this situation will be fully resolved before the sun sets. Please, go home and wait with your wife. She will need reassurance. I will send word when your daughter has been safely retrieved."

The angry scowl on Mr. Weasley's face slid off slowly as he stood, replaced with a look of abject desperation. "We're trusting you with this, Dumbledore. Our daughter... please..."

"Not I, Arthur," Albus said pleasantly, walking to the fireplace and offering the cup of floo powder to the Minister, "Put your faith in Harry Potter. This is his battle, now." He smiled pleasantly as Arthur Weasley disappeared into the green flames.

He stared silently down at the ball he held in his hand for a long moment, a thousand thoughts whirring inside of his mind. Shaking his head, he gathered a handful of floo powder and whispered, "The Last Resort." In a blaze of emerald fire, he vanished.

* * *

Harry woke from an afternoon recovery nap to the words, "Harry Potter," uttered over the intercom. No other words at all, no location or purpose or orders. Just his godfather's voice saying his name with such urgency, such intensity that he bolted out of bed, dressed, grabbed his broom and flew out the door in twenty seconds.

He dismounted in front of his godfather's study in another minute, and he was shocked to see more than just Sirius waiting for him. _Why is Albus Dumbledore here? _Their faces were strangely guarded, as if they had been speaking of a secret that he was not to know. "Sir!" he said firmly, shrinking his broom and pocketing it, and then snapping smartly to attention without bringing it up. They hadn't issued him curiosity.

"At ease, Harry," his godfather said grimly, "we've just received word that Ginny Weasley has gone missing from Hogwarts."

The Boy who Lived felt his chest tighten painfully. He fought to keep his face schooled, even as panic welled up in him. It had to be Draco, he'd promised to go after Ginny next. "Sir, I'd like to volunteer for this mission."

"You haven't even heard what the mission is, Harry." Sirius felt a stab of pride at how readily he'd volunteered to risk his life for the woman who broke his heart.

"All the same, Sir..." Harry said quietly, "Send me." He stayed rigid as both men studied him.

His godfather chuckled softly, "About that, Harry, there's nobody else to send. This one's actually got your name on it, after all." He motioned to the brown paper-wrapped sphere on his desk. "Ginny left this for you very conspicuously. We believe it is a portkey that will recognize only your specific magical signature. So the briefing is simply this: take the portkey, find Ginny, and bring her back here safely. We have no idea where you're going, what you'll find there or whether or not this is a death trap, but we have no other options. I'm sorry, Harry."

"I'm glad it has to be this way, then. I'll do it." With no uncertainty at all, Harry stepped forward and saluted.

Sirius hesitated for a moment, shooting a glance at Dumbledore. Albus nodded and stepped forward, addressing the Boy who Lived directly. "Before you go, Harry, I'd ask a favor of you: may we duel?"

"Sir?" Harry asked, taken aback. He'd never once considered fighting the Headmaster in any capacity, whether magically or physically. What possible reason could a man like Albus Dumbledore have for wanting to duel with him?

"Make it an order, Sirius," Dumbledore said to the Auror.

Sirius sighed, nodding reluctantly. This was for the best. "Harry, fight the man. This will be a Wizard's Duel; no seconds will be chosen, and no lethal or dangerous curses will be used. Jinxes only. Winner is the first one to disarm or stun. Draw your wands."

Harry remained still. How could he fight the man in front of him, even with these restrictions in place? Even with orders from his superior? He had to know. "Why, Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded approvingly and smiled at the young man in front of him. "Of course, Harry. I meant for this fight to happen before your fight with Tom Riddle, but I was weak. I had grown attached, addicted. I couldn't bear to see my pride in another's hands... especially one so young! And what would have happened if you had lost that day? It would have fallen to Lord Voldemort. 'How could I have lived with myself if that had happened?' I reasoned.

"So many excuses, all entirely logical... It is the greatest failing of a mind as brilliant as mine, I am ashamed to admit, that I can produce as many reasonable excuses as necessary for any given occasion. But the simple truth is that I had far too little faith, Harry. I can no longer deny, however, that this was meant for you."

Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, steeling himself and drawing his magic to him. This fight would require him to hold nothing back; one could not lie to a wand, especially his. Albus only hoped that the wand would be satisfied with his inevitable defeat; he would not scar Harry Potter's soul by demanding a fight to the death, not even for this.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts stared out at his opponent, the 16-year-old boy who was arguably the most dangerous wizard alive. "There have been precious few people in the world who have been capable of helping you at any age, Harry Potter," he intoned proudly, drawing his magic into his wand until his aged bones trembled from the strain of it.

"I am still one of them, fortunately. Defend yourself." With that warning and a heavy grunt of effort, he twisted his wand in a flash and shot a blood-red stunner at the Boy who Lived.

Harry whipped his wand out and raised a shield in a fraction of a second, and the impact of the stunner shattered the shield with an ear-splitting peal. He dropped to the ground as the deflected stunner shot over him. The hair on the back of his neck raised as the light passed by, and the air carried the sharp, cloying scent of ozone. His heart hammered in his chest as he heard his godfather's bookcase explode behind him. Flicking his wand, he banished several dozen of the falling books at Dumbledore, shooting two stunners reflexively as he leapt to his feet and began moving to the side.

Dumbledore battled the stunners away with two deft flicks of his wrist, shooting the disarming charm at Harry and another at where he was about to step. Harry stepped beyond the first and dived over the second beam, shooting three stunners at Dumbledore in a fraction of a second. He swatted one away quickly but conjured a magical shield for the other two. The shield glowed a brilliant gold, it was completely opaque.

Harry conjured his own shield; a steel one polished to a mirror finish. Albus nodded, grimacing as he continued pumping as much magic through his wand as he could. A dizzying array of jinxes shot out, and Harry had to focus hard to block and dodge them.

Gripping his wand tightly and pointing it at his opponent, Harry shot four full-power stunners while progressively angling his wand downward. He shot them at very specific intervals that, from Albus's view, would allow the bottom three to remain hidden from view by the top stunner. Dumbledore's shield, which had been at waist level and certainly sturdy enough for at least one more of those incredibly powerful stunners, had not been adequate for three at the same time. It shattered in a shower of golden sparks, and the last stunner passed through the glittering sparks and hit Dumbledore squarely in the stomach.

_Expelliarmus!_ Harry stabbed at Dumbledore's wand hand, wordlessly summoning the wand to him as the wizened old man flew backwards at an astonishing rate of speed. He conjured a mountain of squashy black pillows behind the Headmaster of Hogwarts before he could damage himself on the unforgiving granite. _Ennervate! _He woke him from his induced unconsciousness. And then he finally reached up and snatched his opponent's wand out of the air.

The wand accepted its new master without question as its previous owner crashed into the black heap of pillows, instantly bending to his will.

Authority–raw and primal, the likes of which Harry had never felt–surged into the Boy who Lived. It hit him like a lightning storm, shocking him numb and flooding him to capacity. He couldn't even measure the passage of time while the wand acclimatized itself. Incredible heat bled out of the wand, pulsing in time with his own heartbeat until the air around him rent with a _crack!_ This wand was... He stared at it like he'd never seen before, like he'd had another set of limit shackles removed—a pair he'd been wearing his entire life. This wand was _power_.

Harry turned to look at Dumbledore, who had regained his senses. His chest was heaving from the exertion of the fight and his eyes were twinkling sadly as he watched the Elder Wand entwine its fate with another. "Truly remarkable, Harry. You are the rightful successor to the Wand of Destiny. Use it prudently."

Sirius had watched the match with wide eyes, feeling how strong the magic in the air had been as the two tore his study apart with their duel. He'd been skeptical when Dumbledore said there was something that Harry needed, and he'd been even more skeptical when the Headmaster spoke of his wand as if it were a living thing, and not just a tool.

But he'd heard the stories about the Elder Wand his entire life, and if there was one person in the world that could have proved the old story true, it would have been Albus Dumbledore. All this time, he'd had the most powerful wand in the world... Sirius wondered how he'd never seen it before. And more than that, he wondered how on earth Dumbledore had ever worked up the nerve to give it up, even to his godson. The Headmaster's sacrifice could mean the difference between Harry winning and losing.

A sudden, sharp crack made him flinch, and he realized instantly that it came from the air around his godson. The deep, powerful magic that had given Dumbledore's old wand the nickname, "The Deathstick" had acknowledged its new master.

The Elder Wand now belonged to Harold James Potter, the Boy who Lived.

_And God help the enemy that stands against him now._

The intense anxiety inside Sirius's chest eased noticeably. Surely, not even Lucas Winters could stand against his godson now; he had the allegiance of a wand so powerful that it shaped history around it.

But it hadn't saved Albus Dumbledore, had it...

Picking up the brown paper-covered sphere on the table, Sirius walked over to his godson and held the package out for him. "Good luck, Harry. Be careful." He managed a weak, but supportive smile.

Harry's eyes had never looked more clear and triumphant. His entire body was radiating heat. "Yes, Sir!" He gently set his holly wand down on Sirius's table, tucked the Elder Wand into his holster and unwrapped the sphere; it was a smooth crystal ball with a simple snowflake etched into it.

Sirius nodded as the crystal came into view. He'd been expecting it, ever since he saw an identically-sized object at the edge of the island prison of Azkaban. "That's Lucas Winters, alright. He's got Ginny, there's no doubt." _Godspeed, Prongslet. You're in for one hell of a tough fight._

Rolling it around on his hand, the Boy who Lived wondered what would activate this strange device with no apparent magical signature. It was addressed to him alone, so obviously it was meant for him alone to use. Whoever had taken Ginny had meant for him to hold this, just as he was now. But how would it know that he was holding it, if it had no magic to detect such a thing?

_Of course,_ Harry thought as he slowed his pulse. He felt the ice injecting into his veins, felt that same heady sense of purpose that he always felt before a mission. _I'll just have to tell you, won't I? I am Harry Potter._

The moment he thought the words, he felt a quick tug behind his navel. The crystal ball dropped to the floor of Sirius's study with a loud crack.

The world shifted suddenly, and no sooner had he blinked than he was somewhere else. What a strange portkey; it hadn't traveled with him.

With a start, he recognized the area immediately; it was his private training area. His eyes widened in surprise. How had Dr. Winters found out about this place? A note was pinned to the tree directly in front of him, and a thick bundle of cloth was secured beneath it. He scanned the message quickly, searching for his enemy:

_Harry Potter_,

_Throughout history, single combat has been regarded as the pinnacle of battle; glorious, personal and enduring. In medieval times, an entire war would start with a contest between their best warriors, their champions, and the fates of their respective lands would be determined by the outcome of that fight. We have all heard the names of these warriors; names like Achilles and Hector, David and Goliath, Menelaus and Paris, the Horatii and Curatii... names that still ring clearly, centuries and millennia later._

_These champions all had the weight of their worlds resting upon their shoulders as they fought to the death; the weight of everything that they held dear, everything they knew. And so it is this day._

_As a warrior, as a champion, I challenge you to single combat. Upon your shoulders now rests the fate of your world. Deny me, or lose, and everything you have ever known shall be consumed._

_Bring only your wand and the clothes I have prepared for you; leave everything else behind. I won't bother telling you what will happen if you fail to comply. As soon as you are done, use the portkey I've left for you inside your new clothes and it will bring you to me._

_I have been waiting my whole life for you, Champion. I look forward to finally meeting your strength on the field of battle._

_With the greatest respect,_

_Lucas Winters_

Harry wordlessly ripped the bundle of cloth off of the tree and began undressing. He didn't understand why Dr. Winters had instructions at all, but he would oblige him. There were no questions in his mind, only a single thought so immense that it consumed him:

_No matter what... this ends today._

* * *

"Where are we now, Master?" Draco asked curious, looking around at the colossal, perfectly smooth expanse before him supported by bizarre, twisting arches. There were no apparent windows or doors in the entire place, which gave a distinct feeling of vertigo. The enormous ceiling had to be a hundred feet up or more, but it was hard to tell for sure. Distance was very hard to judge in this place. It was so different from anything he'd seen before, it was impossible to even gauge the size of it.

The entire structure was made from some smooth, impossibly black material that gave no hint of its size or weight. That strange material was so dark that it absorbed the radiant light that was reflected by the countless tiny points of actinic light that were embedded chaotically in every surface. Though the lights were individually very small, it was bright enough inside the structure that every feature of the people next to him could be made out as if it were daylight.

The building itself reminded him of a clear, moonless night sky. And this architecture, with its thick, strangely curved supports ... he'd never seen anything even remotely like it.

Dr. Winters, looking around every bit as eagerly as his disciple was, answered calmly, "This is the land that my family has owned for a thousand years. It's been unplottable since 1138; nobody's ever registered it and nobody knows it's here. My father passed it on to me when he died. This is where generations of my family have lived. There was a house here, along with our family's mausoleum and various other buildings, but I leveled them all to build what we now stand in."

Draco stared at the man as if he'd gone mad. His family, his history, all swept away to build this twisted structure? What sort of man would cut ties with everything that brought him into being?

Lucas continued speaking as if he hadn't heard the blonde's thoughts, "This, Draco, is my grandest achievement to date. I designed, transmuted, enchanted and warded it myself from the foundation up as a single unbroken piece; there are no doors or windows, no seams, no edges... no flaws. The only way in and out is through these keyed portal balls," he pointed to a small crystal sphere with a simple snowflake etched onto it.

"I've included quarters for each of us, along with our young friend here. It will be our new home after today. It's taken me three long years to complete."

Breathing in and exhaling slowly, he whispered, "I intended for it to be a bit larger, but this will have to do for now. It will serve as the arena for my battle with Harry Potter today, and also as a symbol of your power for ages to come. This will be your throne room, Draco, from which you will rule over every nation we have conquered.

"I have already given you a dozen rings of your own, which should be more than enough to take over the Ministry of Magic. If it takes more than three rings, I'll be disappointed in you. You could take over the entire population of Great Britain within the week, wizard and muggle alike, and with two dozen more rings you could take over the whole of Western Europe, perhaps with enough left over to send to your new acquaintances in the United States?" Dr. Winters grinned conspiringly at his student.

Walking forward with Draco, Lucas motioned to the far corner of the vast main room, where a bright white throne sat on a raised dais. "Surely, we should be able to find someone among all those people worthy of my attention. You can have the entire world, Draco, so long as you bring me a challenge. Seek out the champions of these countries, the most powerful among them, and bring them to me. I will ensure that you survive for a thousand years, if you can find me another who has been touched by greatness; another like Harry Potter."

Draco's ambition burned and swelled within him. He had been subjected to the incredible authority of those strange rings of Dr. Lucas Winters. Complete obedience, absolute control; no thought or secret was safe in the mind of one who wore the ring. It was undetectable by any muggle or magical means, permanent no matter the distance, and provided unfettered access to the entire mind of the subject.

Any memory, any emotion was mere clay in the hands of his master, and the scariest part was that the ring was unnecessary. Dr. Winters had first learned how to control people through touch, something as simple and innocuous as a handshake, and designed the rings afterward. The rings had only been created so that he could gain control over someone without ever having to meet them.

Now Draco had been given a dozen rings of his own, keyed to his own magical core. With these rings, he could control the most powerful people in the country directly. The Minister of Magic, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, even the Prime Minister himself. And he had no desire to sit on his laurels. There were dozens of powerful countries, ruled by a very small number of powerful people. With these rings... he could rule the world.

All he had to do was find exceptionally talented wizards and bring them to his master. Having seen firsthand what his master was capable of, he had no doubt in his mind that there wasn't a single man anywhere who could possibly be a match for him. He truly was peerless.

A dark, intensely pleased smile split his face as he nodded to the handsome, but thoroughly ordinary-looking man in front of him. Who would have known that such incredible magic existed, or that he would be the right hand and the mouthpiece of the most dangerous man in the entire world?

For what good was strength or cunning or even magical ability, if the mind that controlled your every action belonged to someone else? And all it took was a touch, or a ring placed on a finger. Dr. Winters was indeed the most brilliant wizard who had ever lived.

Ginny, who had followed them quietly over to the raised dais in the corner, had begun staring off into space with that glazed expression again.

At Draco's questioning look, Dr. Winters smiled. "She has to remain still and silent for this. I will allow her to see and hear the fight, of course, but nothing will register in her mind until after I reconnect her. I've just temporarily suspended the neural bridge between her sensory perceptions and memory centers. Think of it as a muggle television that's still on, except nobody's watching it. Nothing difficult to fix.

"I have to keep her like this; I think that allowing her to be mentally present during the fight could send a sympathetic shock through our bond that might distract me. I will take no chances today," he shrugged; turning and pacing in front of the dais. Draco could tell that he was getting impatient.

Suddenly, for no apparent reason that Malfoy could see, Lucas Winters stopped and smiled. "Harry's taken the first portal ball. He's at his training area now."

"What is he doing there?" Draco asked curiously.

"Preparing." Dr. Winters had closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile on his face as his magic unfurled from him like a surging tide. He had waited so long for this day, so many years...

"Preparing for what, master?"

"For battle, Draco. He will dress, and then he will come to me. And then, at long last, we will fight. I've selected a suitable outfit for him to wear; he will need to look presentable for such a momentous occasion. I want this day to be perfect. It must be perfect."

Draco snorted, shaking his head. He was well-accustomed to his master's penchant for theatrics. He turned the most mundane things into these carefully prepared, momentous events. "You know, it's almost obscene the way you think about him. You talk about him all the time, you think about him whenever you're not talking about him. Your whole life revolves around this boy. It's obsessive. It's like you're in love with him or something."

Lucas glanced at his student, surprised, and then smiled. "You know, that's very nearly the truth."

Malfoy's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh, don't be so pedestrian, Draco. It's much more than mere attraction. This is not _dod_... this is _ahava_. It is a true and deeply-rooted respect; an enduring love for an equal, not a physical lust. I'm doubt that I'm even capable of lust. There isn't a woman on earth who is my equal; they are as inglorious as ants compared to me. How could I possibly be attracted to such creatures?"

Flexing his arms and feeling his magic pulse alongside them, Dr. Winters stared gravely out over the vast, strange expanse before him. "You treat this situation so candidly, as if it were commonplace to fight such a miraculously powerful man. You can't possibly imagine how I've yearned for this battle, how much pain I have suffered to get to this precise point. I don't expect you to understand the importance of this day, but I do expect you to humor me."

Draco snorted, "Humor you? Humor me, then; this bond can show me your feelings, why haven't you shared them? You keep trying to explain it with words, when all it would take to illuminate every single facet of your pain would be you sharing it through our bond. Let me feel this pain that torments you, Master. _Make_ me understand."

Dr. Winters smiled patiently at Draco. "No. I refuse to share these feelings with you through our bond because allowing you to truly feel my pain would lessen it, and this pain needs to remain unbearable. My triumph will only be as great as the pain I have endured to achieve it.

"Now be silent, Draco. The time is almost upon us."

He squatted down and flattened his hand against the ground, feeling the cool black marble beneath him. He'd meticulously transfigured every flaw out of the metamorphic stones and fused each piece to the next, forming a perfect black mass that was unbroken throughout the entire estate. It was transmutation at an elemental level, and as arduous as any task he'd ever undertaken, but it was worth it. He would accept nothing less than perfect for his fight with the Boy who Lived.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply through his nose, smiling widely. He wanted to clearly etch into his memory every single detail of this day, every scent and every cherished emotion. It had been so long since he'd felt anything but an aching, indelible boredom; every one of his senses was sharper and clearer than ever before—enhanced by the anticipation of an incomparably furious battle. _Do not disappoint me, Harry Potter._

Straightening once more, he felt his heartbeat thumping madly against his chest in heady expectation. Indeed, what he felt for Harry Potter was a form of love; the _highest_, most profound form. An old muggle, of all people, had written a poem about this exact feeling that had resonated very clearly with him.

Surely, there was no better time than just now to recite that surprising work. In a low, husky baritone saturated with the effort of containing his rapidly swelling emotions, he intoned:

"_I shall not die alone, alone,_

_but kin to all the powers._

_As merry as the ancient sun_

_ and fighting like the flowers._

_How white their steel, how bright their eyes!_

_ I love each laughing knave,_

_cry high and bid him welcome to_

_ the banquet of the brave._

_Yea, I will bless them as they bend_

_ and love them where they lie,_

_when on their skulls the sword I swing_

_ falls shattering from the sky._

_The hour when death is like a light_

_and blood is like a rose_–

_You have never loved your friends, my friends,_

_ as I shall love my foes."_

* * *

The words Dr. Lucas Winters speaks at the end of this chapter are from a poem by G. K. Chesterton, called "The Last Hero."

One chapter to go, then an epilogue taking place several years afterward. Please let me know what you think in a review, and how you think I can improve as a writer. I greatly appreciate all the feedback I receive; it's both an instructional tool and a great motivator for me.

As per your requests, I've roughly outlined both the muggle Harry Potter story and the full version of We Sort Too Soon. Look for the first chapters of each of them to come out in the next month or so. The full version of We Sort Too Soon is looking to be even shorter and more well-defined than the muggle Harry Potter story, so I'll probably be working harder on that one. I plan to alternately write chapters for each of them, but we'll see how it pans out in reality.

Thank you again for all your support, and please look forward to the climax of this story. It has been years in the making, and I have a heady sense of anticipation about it, myself. (:

Best of luck to you and yours, and you'll be hearing from me again soon.

~Ben


	21. Dust and Ashes

_Disclaimer in Chapter 1._

Chapter XXI: Dust and Ashes

When Harry opened his eyes, the world had shifted again.

This time the scene before him was straight out of a dream: Twisting ebon spires embedded with countless thousands of brilliant white pinpricks of light, without a single door or window in sight. Not a single point of reference to judge how long or wide or tall this place was. The only thing he could measure was the distance between him and the three people standing at the far end of the room, who were so well illuminated by the strange white lights that he could make out their faces even from this distance.

It gave the room a warped, distorted feel; he couldn't even tell where the floor ended and the walls began. No shoes had been provided, but the incredibly hard floor was almost precisely the same temperature as his feet. It was disconcerting.

Walking steadily towards the man he'd met once at the Blackholme Institute, he stopped perhaps twenty yards away and surveyed him.

Lucas Winters was dressed identically to him, in Roman fashion—a white linen tunic and a belt of wide, intricately tooled leather, with thick leather bracers on each forearm. A golden _ (wreath of leaves, circlet) was twisted around his head. Like Harry, he was barefoot.

Dr. Winters, whose hands were visibly trembling now, spoke into the expanse, "Forgive my love of pageantry, but—as this is perhaps the most important day of my entire life—I've indulged my theatrical whim. I am glad you have followed my instructions precisely; you look every bit a warrior of legend."

"What have you done to Ginny?" Harry asked, feeling the pressure build behind his temples. Despite the panic he felt at seeing her sitting so still, looking so blank and lifeless, he had to remain calm: the success of his mission depended on it.

"I have merely disconnected her afferent mechanisms from her memory centers. She is still cognizant and easily returnable to her previous condition. Do not worry for her safety, it is your own that you must focus on."

"And if I don't?" Harry asked quietly. "What if I just took her and left?"

Lucas Winters's face hardened as his fists clenched. "You can't leave. The only way out is through my portal balls. You cannot apparate or portkey. Even assuming you _could_ get out of here, it wouldn't do you any good. She is _mine_ now, she will do as _I _say. If I told her to leap to her death, she'd do it happily. The moment you relaxed, the moment you closed your eyes to sleep, I'd have her try to kill you. You _will_ stay, and you _will _fight me. To the death."

"Are you that eager to die, Lucas?" Harry's words rang like steel in the hollow chamber.

A feral smile split Dr. Winters's face. "That's the spirit, Harry. Right now, standing across from you, I am not alone in this world anymore. You are the only wizard worthy of my respect, the only wizard who can cause me fear. You can fill this hollow ache in my chest and make me come alive. That is why you will fight me—because I have not yet lived."

Harry's brow wrinkled in thought. The way Dr. Winters spoke of being alone sounded so much like his own aching loneliness; that empty space in his chest that came not from being unloved, but unrivaled in the world. This was what Lucas Winters required to fill the ragged hole in his chest.

But why? Why was this man so willing to cut away his humanity? In the few months that Harry had been at Hogwarts, he'd learned so many things that had nothing to do with combat; things that were as intrinsic as breathing.

"Isn't there any other way? We don't have to do this, Lucas."

Lucas's face twisted—his dark eyes were vicious and inhuman with rage, "You will fight me with every last inch of yourself! If you don't, I will find every single person you've ever met and burn them alive, I will destroy your school until no stone rests on top of another. I will torture your godfather for an entire _decade_ before I allow him the respite of death. If you won't fight me, I will take from you _everything_ that you hold dear! I _will_ have my challenge! _Do you hear me, Harry Potter?_"

Harry let shock wash over him as Dr. Winters's words registered. "Very well. Will Ginny be released if I kill you?"

Lucas nodded, his smile once again pleasant and supportive. The change from his rage was instantaneous, like flicking off a switch. It was unnerving. "I've set custody of both of my bonds to transfer to you if I die, to do with as you please. Release them or kill them, it will not matter so long as you give me my challenge."

Draco shot an incredulous glare at his Master, feeling a sharp sting of betrayal. After everything he'd done for Dr. Winters, he was still nothing more than a tool to be broken and thrown away. He'd known that he was a tool, but he had thought himself irreplaceable—made for a thousand years. So hearing his Master say that his most faithful servant's life was worthless, that the only thing that mattered was this fight... It cut him deeply, for reasons he didn't fully understand.

The Boy who Lived drew his wand, nodding at his enemy as he raised the Deathstick skyward in salute. "You will have your challenge, Lucas." Inhaling deeply through his nostrils, he held his breath for a six-count and exhaled sharply. The world snapped into focus as icewater flooded his veins once more.

Lucas grinned widely, raising his arms out and shouting, "I will erect a statue here to honor your memory, Harry Potter! You will never be forgotten; I will look back on this memory every single day with regret, because nothing on earth will challenge me as you will! So come to me, Harry! Come and die!"

No matter how assured Dr. Winters was of his own superiority, he knew that he could not afford to treat this duel with anything less than his full attention and lethality. His opponent was the Boy who Lived, who had beaten Voldemort one-on-one. And now it was his turn to test himself against the greatest monster that the world had ever known.

His hands, which had been shaking from restraining his magic from lashing out in his excitement, flexed into tight fists. He had no need for such a mundane weapon as a wand; his father designed his limbs to act as magical foci all on their own, without the need for a proxy. His entire body, from toes to fingertips to forehead, was a conduit for his magic.

So he gathered it. All of it. Every scrap of his magic flooded through his veins, expanding hotly. He let out a jubilant hiss as he filled to overflowing and the excess began radiating off of his body in waves with his heartbeat.

Harry's face tightened as he followed suit, gathering his magic around him, and Dr. Winters knew that his plan had succeeded—Harry Potter had never been more powerful. It was magnificent to behold.

Draco felt his heartbeat struggling against his ribs, trying vainly to get anywhere else. There was nothing to do but stand aside and let his master's work be done, but standing here suddenly seemed a terrible idea. He'd been so sure of his master's inevitable victory, since he'd seen first-hand the awesome power that he commanded, but this...

He thought he'd seen the full measure of the Boy who Lived—he'd beaten to the last inch of his life, for Merlin's sake—but nothing that day, nor ever, had prepared him for the wizard before him today.

He felt the magic in the air, of course, but who could've guessed that Potter's power was every bit as terrifying as his master's? If anything it seemed even more dominant, and that shook Draco to his soul.

His mind was filled with thoughts, spinning so fast that he could barely keep hold of them. His master could lose this fight. His master didn't seem invincible anymore. His master would give him up to die just for the chance to fight this boy.

But overlaid beyond every thought—_So this is Harry Potter._

For the first time since his master called to him in that dank, disgusting cell at Azkaban, Draco Malfoy felt a very real pinch of fear.

The Boy who Lived was emanating magic in the visible spectrum of light now, causing motes of magic to swirl and pulse dimly in the strangely bright room; the air around him crackled and sparked with quiet intensity. His eyes were cold, hard and furious.

He was a living hurricane, a tightly focused force of nature. And that focus was entirely upon Dr. Lucas Winters, who, at long last, felt an electric thrill arcing up his spine. It stiffened his joints and tensed his muscles involuntarily. He felt his body flush with heat as his senses expanded further.

This was fear, Dr. Winters realized. This was what everyone else took for granted.

It was _exhilarating_.

Harry slapped his free hand to the ground, launching Dr. Winters upward with a square of marble and sending huge chunks of the floor flying after him.

Lucas easily deflected every piece of marble except the last, which he grabbed. The blow knocked him back over his own feet, and when he'd spun full circle he banished the heavy stone at tremendous speed back toward Harry as he descended. He transfigured his cloak into a pair of huge white wings, flapped them twice as he neared the ground and landed deftly on his feet.

He was grinning ear to ear as he caught sight of the Boy who Lived, who had dodged the meteoric projectile and most of the resultant shrapnel from its impact. He had never been so excited. His heart was hammering at his ribcage; he could feel the effects of it. His fine motor control was nearly useless; he had to expend an incredible amount of effort to smooth his twitchy motions.

His mind was aching to go faster. _Much_ faster.

So he let it. Lucas's mind raced along with his heartbeat now, his consciousness had sped up beyond anything he'd ever known before. It was as if the entire world had slowed down around him, just so he could enjoy this moment that much longer. He let out a triumphant shout as he dashed away from a thick wave of stone.

This was _it._ This was what he'd been waiting his entire life for. He had finally come alive in this cold, lonely world. Everything was so incredibly sharp and clear... And it was all thanks to the Boy who Lived.

He dodged a pair of stunners so powerful that they glowed like twin sunsets in the cavernous room, and he could clearly track the red beams as they tore through the air.

Slow. Too slow.

Harry's eyes widened as Lucas dodged his stunners like he'd thrown them in slow motion. Every second that elapsed, Dr. Winters seemed to grow faster. He could barely keep his eyes on his opponent in the strange, vertigo-inducing room. After shooting another pair of stunners, he reasoned that the man's reflexes must be inhumanly fast. Too fast for a direct attack.

The Boy who Lived gripped the Elder wand more firmly, his mouth tightening into a thin line. Fortunately for him, he had been well-trained. _Legilimens!_

Dr. Winters suddenly saw a huge boulder falling from the sky, and he instantly dove out of the way into another pair of powerful stunners, which he dodged. But when he prepared to dodge the shrapnel from the boulder, it had vanished. A smirk slid onto his lips as he straightened. "Impressive, Harry Potter. A very clever tactic. Show me more!"

Harry implanted memory after memory of attacks, one after another or several at once, forcing them into his opponent's head as he shot a series of spells at him, trying to make him dodge into one of his stunners so he could finish him off.

He implanted a pitch black screen, which should have blinded his adversary for a moment while his brain decided which memory was from his senses and which one was fake.

It barely slowed Dr. Winters down. Every single one of his spells failed to connect.

The Boy who Lived implanted gruesome, traumatic memories of his past battles. Broken limbs and eviscerations and death cries. Pressing for an advantage as he forced the memories through his opponent's head faster and faster.

With a sharp sweep of Harry's wand the ground behind Dr. Winters erupted skyward, spreading out in a semicircular wall as tall as he was. The surface hardened instantly into a mirror-like surface. The Boy who Lived began sending stunners from every angle, deflecting them off of the mirrors behind and around the back of Dr. Winters.

"More, Harry!" Lucas shouted, weaving about in an area so saturated with stunners that it seemed like a brilliant, flashing neon spiderweb. To an impartial observer, it would look like nothing more than an intricate, energetic dance. There was no rush or haste in his motions, just a measured, fluid grace and an ever-present smirk. Only occasionally did he reach out and bat a stunner away with a small mirrored buckler he'd conjured on his left arm.

Keeping up the steady stream of stunners, Harry transfigured bits of shrapnel into tiny creatures made entirely of razor edges, banishing them by the dozens toward his opponent. Wherever they landed, they crawled quickly toward Lucas.

"Come on!" shouted Dr. Winters. With a stomp of his foot, the tiny black monstrosities sank into the floor without a trace.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Harry conjured a thick gas that sat about him like fog. Breathing this in would paralyze a man for perhaps half an hour, depending on their constitution, and it was highly flammable. He waved the mist towards Dr. Winters, banishing even more of the spindly black creatures with it as he swept the Elder Wand toward the barrier, causing shatteringly loud explosions to erupt from every part of the curved surface.

The thick gas caught fire in a tremendous _whoosh, _which detonated so violently that it shook the twisting spires that supported the ceiling. Harry raised a wall to protect himself from the blast and crouched behind it, feeling the entire structure quake and roll with the combined force of his efforts.

A hand of stone shot out from the wall he was crouched behind, grasping for him. He jumped out of the way, but it caught his left arm and squeezed. _What?_

Harry brought the Elder wand down on the marble appendage and severed it, tearing it away from his arm before it could crush his bones. He dashed away from the wall, dodging several more arms that rose from the ground to snatch at his legs. Finally one tripped him up, causing him to tumble across the unforgiving marble.

More marble arms rose to capture him, and he found himself lifted bodily off the ground and placed on his feet once more, his arms outstretched. Another stone hand tore the Elder wand out of his grasp and sent it skittering across the floor, and Harry felt his heart plummet at the sudden sense of loss. He arched and kicked and struggled against the stone arms that wrapped around his wrists, legs and throat, but they didn't give in the slightest.

Lucas Winters's head slipped up through the ground in front of him, a wide smile on his face. His entire body rose out of the floor and he stepped toward Harry purposefully.

Harry's mind clicked instantly. _So that's how the bastard survived._ He'd gone underground during the blast, following him through the ground. What a feat, to transmute the marble in front of him out of the way and propel himself forward with the marble behind him, all while in complete darkness.

"Surely you can do better than this, Harry Potter..." Dr. Winters said, a flushed scowl marring his face. "I expected so much more from you, but all I've seen so far are parlor tricks. Does the wand truly make the wizard? Face me the way nature intended! Show me your power!"

To answer his enemy's question, Harry stomped his bare foot against the ground, sending a sharp spike upward from underneath Dr. Winters's right foot.

Lucas's scream ripped through the air as the stone lance tore upward through the bottom of his foot, angling towards his thigh and femoral artery.

With a pulse of magic so thick that it crashed against the Boy who Lived like a wave, Dr. Winters pushed the spike back through his foot and into the ground once more. He gasped in pain as his teeth, and then felt his rage building. Harry Potter wasn't playing by his rules!

"_Die!_" he shouted, gathering his magic around him.

Harry felt his marble restraints tighten painfully, and he shoved his own magic into them as hard as he could. No more time for wands—it was a battle of wills now. He pushed more and more magic into the marble surrounding him, struggling to gain control over the stone.

Lucas gritted his teeth, feeling the pressure of Harry's magic against the marble arms around him. The excruciating pain in his foot had been an effective and agonizing distraction, but he could fight through it. He _would_ fight through it. Tightening his jaw, he focused all his efforts on crushing the life out of the Boy who Lived.

With a hoarse grunt, Harry forced the marble hands to release him. He fell to his knees instantly and slapped his hands against the smooth black floor, feeling his arms growing hot from the tremendous amount of magic flowing into them. He bowed his head, screwed his eyes shut and _pushed_ his magic into the ground as hard as he could.

Lucas struggled against the Boy who Lived and his sudden all-out assault, feeling their magics sparking against each other in the air between them; fighting for control of the marble hands behind Harry and the smooth ground beneath them. Every inch of his body was trembling from the strain; he'd never pushed so hard against anything in his life. The pressure...

It was this tight, intense force at the back of his head—a panic that stirred such fear in him...he'd never known such an overwhelming sensation; he was trapped in his own surging ocean, being swept away by the pace of Harry Potter's magic...

Unbelievably, he watched the Boy who Lived raise his head and stare at him. His eyes were as hard as the marble beneath him, the center of the storm. He could feel the sharp pain in his foot distracting him, the boy's fury burning against him, heating his body as he fought for power over his domain.

He found himself caught up in the pace, the panic, the maddening fight for control—this was what he had been missing, what every other person in the world took for granted!

The Boy who Lived screamed, the skin on his hands blistering and cracking from the heat of his magic. The veins in his arms expanded painfully, drawing blood in from the rest of his body to buffer the blazing magic racing through him. He felt like his whole body would light on fire from the effort. It was excruciating, but he fought to keep his focus. His control over the marble around him expanded, reaching to the twisting spires and climbing to the ceiling.

Dr. Winters felt his heart leap in shock as the very spires that supported the castle he'd created broke from the ceiling and plunged toward him, their tips compressed to razor points. His attention split, he could feel his power diffusing as he pushed against the intense weight of his enemy's influence.

Harry forced the sharpened spires towards his foe, straining his blistered hands against the floor as he expelled every scrap of magic he could keep hold of. He watched Dr. Winters clench his fists desperately, his magic pulsing in ever-weaker tides as he struggled to keep his own house from destroying him.

Ever so slowly, the Boy who Lived saw an exultant smile stretching across his enemy's face. And in the next moment, Lucas Winters's magic vanished.

With nothing left to restrain them, the black spires crashed tip-first into Dr. Winters, tearing through soft tissue and bone brutally as the ground rose up around him in a seething mass. He disappeared from view as the smooth, black marble crashed against him from all sides, crushing him instantly.

Harry stared out over the surreal image of the spires, now bent into tight arches, buried in the formless black mass of stone before him. He was dazed by the suddenness of his enemy's loss.

At the other end of the hall, Draco and Ginny fell to the ground in agony. Their keening wails drew Harry's attention away from the strange, silent grave of Dr. Winters.

_Did he lie to me... Did I just kill Ginny?_ Harry thought frantically, rushing to her side and checking for a pulse with his blistered fingers. She felt icy to his scorched skin.

Her strong, steady heartbeat sent a ripple of relief down his back as he withdrew his cracked hands. Whatever was happening to her, she wasn't dead yet. And if she wasn't dead, then Dr. Winters really was telling him the truth.

Suddenly, an electric shock stole through the Boy who Lived like a lightning bolt. His world turned inside out for one twisting, terrible moment, and his mind folded in on itself—he squeezed his eyes shut as his body locked up from the pain. After one interminable instant, it was over.

As his vision stretched back into focus, he could feel two small pockets in the back of his mind. There was no other way to describe it.

_Harry? Is that really Harry?_ he heard Ginny say in the back of his mind. She was still disconnected, unable to move or speak. _How in the hell did I get here? Where _is_ here?_

_I'm going to die... I'm really going to die this time..._ he heard from Draco seconds later. He could feel the sympathetic wonder in his voice. _He really beat Lucas..._

Harry suddenly understood what Dr. Winters had meant when he'd set the bonds to transfer upon his death. Although he hadn't fully realized what Lucas Winters meant by 'bonds', he felt them clearly now.

It was like being inside their skin, inside their heads. If he concentrated, he could see what they saw. He could feel what they felt, hear what they thought. Their minds were bare to him; no secret could be concealed from his sight.

"I suppose I should thank Dr. Winters for this much, at least; can't feel fear or apprehension about being bonded to you," Draco said without malice. "Get it over with already, Potter. If you're going to kill me, it won't take anything more than a strong thought."

Harry's eyes followed as the blonde sighed and sat down next to Ginny. When Draco spoke there had been a strange echo; his thoughts had been heard instantly, and then the words met his ears a split-second later. It was incredibly strange.

Draco spoke into the air, not looking at the Boy who Lived, "Just my luck. Every time I picked a side, you just _had_ to pick the other one. And of course, you never bothered much with that 'losing' business. It's damned inconsiderate of you. All I wanted was to be known and feared throughout the world...was that really so much to ask?"

"Yes," Harry answered.

Malfoy shook his head, smiling despite himself, "That wasn't a question, Potter. Anyway, before you kill me, I feel like I should tell you that Dr. Winters wanted to thank you. Right before you killed him, fully aware that he was about to die, he felt the most amazing sense of gratitude. He was grateful to you, just because you existed; because you were there to end his life. Barking mad, wasn't he?"

The Boy who Lived nearly agreed with Draco, but after everything he'd been through...it didn't sound that crazy anymore. Lucas Winters had a void in his life, and he'd been desperate to fill it—enough to risk his life.

To find something that made life worth the pain—wasn't that what everyone was looking for?

"You might want to free your little girlfriend, Potter," Draco sneered. "She can't ask you for freedom herself; can't even _think_ about it, you know. I imagine she's had quite enough for one day."

Harry agreed well enough with that. "How do I...?"

"Do I look like an instructional pamphlet? Just think it, Potter. Wish it or something. Wiggle your fingers at her, if you think it'll help. You're the boss, remember?"

He pictured Ginny's pocket in his mind, opening it. The pocket was vibrant, full of grassy fields and steaming plates of food, of sunlight and that sweet, flowery smell that followed her everywhere. If he just wished it enough, then she would be released.

Against his best intentions, he wondered whether this was the right course of action. The battle was over—the day was saved—so now what? Was he supposed to go back to the barracks? Was he supposed to be alone again?

He didn't have to be alone. Even though he knew clearly that Ginny had been controlled when she said all those painful things, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't come to those conclusions on her own in time. And if that time came, he'd get hurt again.

From a tactical perspective, the best course of action was the easiest to execute, gave the full desired result, the fastest to complete, and with the least amount of risk. Whatever got you to your goal, faster and for less, was the best course of action: More money from a robbery for a thief, more hostages rescued from a kidnapper for a police officer, more fear from the general populace for a terrorist—it applied to nearly every situation. It was basic math to Harry Potter, taught from a very young age and reinforced throughout his entire life.

Since nobody outside of this room knew about these 'bonds', nobody would suspect anything. He wouldn't have to expend any effort—he would just have to let things be. He could kill Draco or order him to never speak of it, and he could go back to Hogwarts and Ginny would love him again.

If he kept his bond to Ginny, then she would love him forever. He would be guaranteed victory—he would never have to feel that terrible pain of betrayal again.

The gain was he would have his best mate back, and he would have it today. Eventually, he might want a wife—he would know her answer before he ever asked for her hand. It would be a blissful relationship; they would never be angry with each other, never hurt each other. There would be no miscommunication.

His victory would be instantaneous and absolute, with zero risk of failure involved. He would finally understand everything about her, he would treat her incomparably well, and they would never fight or be cross with each other. They would have a life of uninterrupted happiness, with no doubts of fidelity and no worries about losing interest. They would be perfect.

So—tactically—the best course of action for him would be to stay bonded to Ginny forever, and never tell a soul about it.

The only cost would be her free will.

So much of this noncom lifestyle was new and surprising—the sharp sting that cut deep into his chest was no exception. The thought of forcing her to love him, even though it was the fastest, easiest and least painful way to have a relationship...it felt so painfully wrong.

It didn't feel like cheating, and he'd cheated much in his short life. Often the best way to achieve victory was by circumventing your enemy's rules, like in a duel where you're supposed to draw on three. Victory was infinitely easier if you drew on one and he never made it to his wand at all. In tactical situations, cheating was all but assured. The last thing you ever wanted to give your enemy was a fair fight.

This just felt unacceptable. It felt like an atrocity on the scale of endangering civilians to achieve the goal. For reasons Harry didn't fully understand, he simply couldn't allow his bond with Ginny to continue existing. It made no tactical sense, but the Boy who Lived had become much more comfortable with illogical things in the last few months.

There weren't a lot of things in this noncom lifestyle that were logical, after all.

_I want Ginny Weasley to be free. I want Ginny Weasley to be released from our bond. I want Ginny Weasley to—_

He heard Ginny gasp sharply, and his eyes widened as the small pocket that contained the redhead disappeared from his mind. A brief pinch of pain, and then Draco's pocket was alone.

Before he could blink, she was scrabbling to her feet and throwing herself at the Boy who Lived. He caught her gratefully, relaxing into the comfort of warm arms that he thought he'd never feel again.

"Harry, I'm so sorry! It wasn't me, and I didn't mean it, and I never would've said such horrible things to you no matter what, and I can't believe he made me _say_ that—" Ginny said all of this very fast, but Harry was just relieved that he wasn't hearing an echo inside of his head anymore.

"It's okay, Ginny," he insisted, interrupting her with a smile, "I know it wasn't you. I know he made you say what you did. And honestly, I'm thankful that he did."

Ginny's brown eyes snapped to his, disbelieving, "But I was so _awful_..."

"And it made me stronger. I was able to win today because of what Dr. Winters made you do."

Her face soured, "That's a terrible justification, but I won't argue the point. Can I at least try to make it up to you?" Her expression turned hopeful.

"Sorry to butt in," Draco drawled, still reclining on the floor, "but could you figure out what to do with me now, and snog later? The suspense is killing me..."

Ginny took a deep breath and glanced at Malfoy appraisingly, "Look Harry, I know you've got every right to be cross with me, I know I don't have the right to ask you this, but I've got to ask anyway: can you make Draco teach me everything that Dr. Winters taught him?"

"Everything that the Winters family touches turns to dust and ashes. I've learned enough to know that."

She shook her head insistently, "His father's work, and his work, Harry...they studied memories—specifically, modifying them. I got caught by a ring, and so did Draco. That's what those rings did, mostly; they let Dr. Winters remotely modify the memory centers of our brains. I know you don't want to hear this, but no matter how the knowledge was gained...this research can save lives. Thousands of lives. So please...trust me with this?"

Her eyes were pleading, and Harry found he couldn't say no to her; not after everything she'd just gone through for him. He just hoped she knew what she was doing. "Malfoy," he said, looking down at the blonde boy.

Draco sighed, standing and dusting off his trousers. "_Everything_, everything? Or just everything that she knows about?" His gray eyes were resigned.

Harry narrowed his eyes, "All of it."

Malfoy shrugged, stepped over to Ginny and lifted his hands to touch her temples. "Relax, Weasley—this won't hurt a bit. Although, I hope my stellar performance will help persuade your boyfriend not to kill me just yet. You know, because I'm cooperating so thoroughly. Just a thought."

And then her mind began to flash with a thousand memories that she'd never made.

* * *

She didn't know how long she had been trapped in her brain, but she knew that it had been long enough to grow terrified of the quiet darkness and the steady, burning pain. Then she'd accepted that terror, then grown tired of it, then forgotten it. She'd been captive so long that she'd forgotten how to be afraid of the dark.

How could you be afraid of something, when you knew nothing else?

The first thing she felt was like an icy tendril creeping into her brain, soothing the pain with its numbing grasp. She'd been surrounded by the pain, encased in darkness for so long that she held no fear of this strange tendril that had invaded her mind—it couldn't hurt worse than what she was already going through.

The tendril split into tiny fingers, and the pale light that emanated from those cold fingers lit the strange, tangled web inside her mind. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing, but the fingers seemed to know what they were searching for. Every so often a finger would curl around a long, thick strand and tug at it delicately, separating it from rest of the huge web effortlessly. She watched the fingers work with the detached curiosity that stemmed from an endless imprisonment with no offer of parole.

The fingers withdrew, and she slipped into the darkness once more.

When she awoke, her eyes were itchy with sleep. She rubbed at them hesitantly and blinked.

Two blurry figures were standing to the right of her bed, smiling down at her. She nodded to the stranger in greeting, "Good morning, child."

When the redheaded stranger simply smiled at her silently, she looked to her husband, who was standing beside her. Even to her blurry eyes, he looked like he'd taken a strong aging potion. "Where are we? Did you finally blow up the house with those mad experiments of yours?"

She heard a gasp from the other side of her bed. Turning her head, she saw a black-haired boy with a familiar nose and chin. "Oh, hello—I didn't see you there. You look familiar, dear, are you one of my cousin's boys, perhaps?" She peered curiously at him, inspecting his face.

The boy's eyes misted up, and he threw his arms tightly around her as he burst into tears. She startled at the sudden attack, but found she couldn't turn away from this boy's pain. She rubbed small, soothing circles on his back and whispered, "Shh, it'll be alright, dear. There's no need to cry..."

The redheaded stranger left, unnoticed by the three. On the way out, she tossed the medical files titled "Longbottom, Frank" and "Longbottom, Alice" in the bin, where they belonged. Checking the time on her watch, she let out a muted curse and tore down the hallway toward the fireplace in the employee's lounge.

She may have been an apprentice Medi-Witch at St. Mungo's, but she still had to get back to Hogwarts before Flitwick took attendance. She couldn't afford to skip Charms again—her OWLs were coming up, and even though Harry usually helped her study, he was a lot busier than she was these days.

* * *

In the long-term care ward of the Walton Centre for Neurology in Liverpool, Draco Malfoy was finishing up with treatment on a former Hogwarts student named Bertram Aubrey, who'd been in a coma for the past nine years due to an unfortunate splinching accident where she'd arrived at her destination missing the entire right half of her brain. They'd put her back together, and theoretically she was fine, but the mind was still largely a mystery to the medical community.

It wasn't much of a mystery to Draco Malfoy.

Despite his crimes, he knew he would be remembered. He'd taught Ginny how to permanently implant, modify and remove memories. He taught her how to heal and destroy the mind—the legacy of the Winters family.

Since he couldn't go back to Hogwarts, and since Harry Potter himself had vouched for his change of heart and willingness to put things right, he'd been given a job instead: He was paid a pittance by the Ministry to treat permanent basket cases, such as this one, and as soon as she woke up he could get back to his pathetic little flat in London and wait around for his next assignment.

It wasn't much of a life, considering how ambitious his earlier designs had been, but it was infinitely better than dying so young and dashingly handsome. He couldn't make his army and he couldn't conquer the world, since Harry had expressly forbid him to create any connections to his patients. He still monitored his thoughts and controlled his bond, so he couldn't get away with even the slightest trick.

It didn't matter as much as he thought it would.

The Malfoy name wouldn't fade into obscurity, Draco wouldn't be forgotten. In the end, that was all he wanted, and he was grateful for it. He had a new name now, and a new lease on life.

What's worse, he caught himself enjoying parts of his new life far more than his old one.

After the patient reawakened, the average reintegration specialist would insist that only calm, soothing words be spoken until a thorough evaluation has been processed and reintegration can begin. They would assert that the patient's comfort and wellbeing was critical to proper reintegration.

Draco Malfoy, or Robert Cornwell, as he was known these days, was not your average reintegration specialist.

Bertram Aubrey's eyes tightened, then relaxed and creaked opened for the first time in nine years. She was confused and scared, and when she looked up she saw a blonde angel smiling down at her.

She tried to ask him if she was in heaven, but her voice didn't want to work. So she just smiled, instantly at ease with this beautiful man hovering over her.

"Welcome back to reality," he drawled, patting her incredibly bushy hair.

She blushed, but leaned into his touch surreptitiously.

"You know," Draco mused, patting down her hair a bit more vigorously, "you may have been taking that whole 'vegetable' metaphor a bit too seriously—you look a bit like a piece of broccoli right now. Even in a coma, I'd take better care of my hair than this."

For the first time in nine years, Bertram Aubrey burst into tears.

* * *

Harry Potter stood before a group of two dozen men and women in dark gray BDUs, who mostly gaped at him with varying levels of terror and awe written across their faces. He walked slowly along the ranks, inspecting each person for the slightest breach in grooming and dress code regulations. Since three-quarters of the recruits were pulled from active duty military service, they were all generally squared away.

The recruits before him were the first class to be assigned to Sirius's new "Clandestine Services" division at the Ministry, and he was rightly nervous; he was the head instructor of Class #1. It had been his idea, his project and his proposals. The product of countless hours of paperwork, recruitment decisions, TO&E, courses of instruction, Ministry certification of services...

Even with all the effort he'd poured into this, it never felt real until this moment.

Harry had prepared a speech for this historic occasion, one which would hopefully set the pace for the duration.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he barked, "Greetings, recruits! Over the next six months you will be tested in ways that may not seem natural. It will not ever be easy, and it will not ever be simple, but rest assured—it will be _possible_ for most of you to complete this training without permanent, debilitating injuries.

"You have all been given the same uniforms, with no names or insignias, to denote that you are all equally worthless to this division, and to me. You will refer to yourselves as 'this recruit'. You have no rights whatsoever, and you will not have anything until you _deserve_ it. You will have to fight hard to earn your name tapes, and even harder to earn privileges such as weekend liberty and apparating passes. You will not earn the honor of wearing the flag on your shoulder until graduation day. _If_ you graduate. Make no mistake—from this moment on, you are nameless, faceless recruits with no real importance at all."

Staring at each of the recruits, and noticing with satisfaction that several of them had begun sweating, he continued marching along the rows and shouting his introductory speech, "Some of you will find that you are not cut out for this line of work, or this lifestyle. Some of you will be asked to leave. Others of you will be _forced_ to leave. I don't care where you went to school, I don't care who your daddy is—your survival in this course of instruction will depend on your strength, fortitude and determination, and on your ability to exist within the team structure necessary to this line of work.

"You will learn how to operate in three-, six- and twelve-man deployable teams. You will learn to conduct operations that are vital and necessary to the continued survival of our nation. You will learn to be silent, invisible and efficient; you will learn how to ignore your baser, weaker instincts. You will learn how to be a credit to your countrymen and your Queen! And if you can't learn, then you will not be allowed to graduate.

"I urge each of you to reflect on why you decided to try for a spot in this division. Keep that in the forefront of your mind, and get ready to push yourself harder than you've ever pushed yourself before.

"If you want to stand out, you'll have to be harder, faster and stronger than the people standing around you. And make no mistake; if you expect to graduate, then we expect you to stand out. Does any recruit have a question before we commence training?"

A thin-faced man at the end of the first row raised his hand.

Harry's eyebrows rose; he hadn't been expecting anyone to take that question seriously. He walked to the end of the row and stood face to face with the recruit, "Yes, recruit? Was I unclear about something?"

A grin slid onto the man's face as he stared over Harry's shoulder and shouted, "No, Sir! This recruit just wanted to inform you that he responds best to positive reinforcement, Sir!"

After the thin-faced man's sloppy salute and several seconds of awkward silence, the entire class erupted in laughter. The man bowed to his audience and straightened with an insolent smile.

The Boy who Lived narrowed his eyes. He'd been hoping to set the pace peacefully, but he'd also conducted extensive research on how drill instructors kept the attention of their charges. He had been wondering which method was more effective, and it was now becoming abundantly clear.

_Well, that's convenient._

Harry tucked his hands into the pockets of his BDUs and smiled thinly at the man. He gathered magic into his forehead and tilted his head forward, projecting a condensed layer toward the recruit.

The man's smile disappeared abruptly as his head jerked backward from an invisible blow, and a moment later he crashed to the ground in a graceless flop. Blood gushed from his nose, leaking down each of his cheeks in thin rivulets, but he did not stir. The entire class went as quiet as a morgue.

"You must not recognize me, recruits!" the Boy who Lived snapped. "My name is Harry Potter."

That set off a flurry of questions that nobody dared to speak up to ask, which Harry picked out of their minds with ease. "To answer your questions: I am faster than you, I am stronger than you, and I have more magical ability than you. I don't like hitting women, but there are no men and women in this class—there are only pathetic, formless recruits! You will not earn a gender until you graduate!"

The recruits whose questions he'd answered flinched like they'd been struck. Harry continued grimly, "My country has given me a free pass to beat each and every one of you half to _death_ if I deem it necessary, and it's seeming more necessary by the minute. I have been killing for my country since I was eight years old, and even then I possessed more discipline than this. I haven't yet been issued a sense of humor, because it is not a required item for this line of work."

Harry turned on his heel and walked to the front of the class, still shouting. "So the next one of you squishy bastards that disrupts my class will be shipped to St. Mungo's by floo, portkey _and_ side-along apparition. All three, at the same time. Yes, I've done it before, and yes, I'm itching to demonstrate.

"Now, any other questions?" Harry asked, looking around at the ashen-faced, incredibly quiet recruits.

The four assistant instructors broke the class into groups of six for conditioning and agility training, and the Boy who Lived wondered if his girlfriend ever had this much fun at work.

* * *

* * *

Hi hi, Ben here.

Okay, I guess I lied. Somewhere in the dozens of surgical procedures I performed on this chapter, it grew a few extra appendages and now it'll be way too long and segmented. So yay, congratulations, you get an extra chapter after this one! Before the epilogue! I know, it's genius!

Or something like that. Truthfully, I'm still not happy with the fight scene. I'm still not happy with the wrap-up that immediately follows. But as many of my precious, ridiculously cool, amazing, intelligent and brilliant reviewers (like yourself) follow the "post now, fix later" school of thought, here it is. I'll not keep you waiting on my sense of literary decency.

Again, thank you all for your thoughts and words, your reviews and threatening emails, they've inspired me beyond words. Two chapters to go, one of which is already mostly written (I've never said that before, have I? What, I have? Crap.) and then we can all wash our hands of this crazy story. Look for an update within the next two months, and the epilogue is almost completed already. Updates should follow shortly after this one with my new stories, so if you haven't yet checked them out, please do. They are the next steps in my journey as a writer, and you've all played a part in helping to shape my style.

In the meantime, I'm gonna get back to writing. Somewhere in there, I'll try to figure out just where in the hell the last five years have gone. Did it really take me five years to get to this point in the story? Did I really start this story when I was 21? I feel so old right now...

What a long, strange trip it's been.

~Ben


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